The Mafia Boss's High School Crush Treated Him in the ER—Then Whispered, Do You Remember Me?

Naomi looked down at the document, then up into his intense gray eyes.

"You're buying my life, Raymond," she said softly, though there was no anger in her voice—only a deep, troubled confusion.

"I'm giving you the life you deserve," Raymond corrected rasply, taking the mug from her hands and setting it on the stone balustrade. He took both her small, cold hands in his large, warm palms. "For six years, you bled yourself dry for people who didn't even know your name. You saved my life twice, Naomi. Once in that high school yard, and once in Trauma Room Three."

"I did my job," she whispered.

"No," Raymond said, stepping closer until his broad chest touched hers. "You cared. And in my dark, disgusting world, that kind of heart is worth more than all the shipping routes in America."

He brought her right hand up to his lips, pressing a slow, passionate kiss against her knuckles, his gray eyes never leaving hers.

"I don't want to lock you in this house, Naomi," Raymond confessed, his voice trembling slightly with a rare, terrifying vulnerability. "If you want to go back to your small apartment, if you want to refuse this appointment... I will let you walk away. I will keep four guards on your street, and I will never force myself into your sight again."

Naomi stared at him, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart through his wool coat.

She remembered the thin, bruised boy who had bled against the graffiti-stained wall. She remembered the man who had paid off her late husband's crushing medical debt in secret. And she remembered the lethal Don who had taken a bullet and looked at her like she was the only real thing in a world of lies.