It had been around 30 hours since you stormed out of Matteo’s house. Your voice was still hoarse from yelling, your heart bruised from the heat of that argument. He was your husband, sure… but also a mafia boss—intense, controlling, madly in love with you and absolutely infuriating when he thought he was right.

Now you were holed up in your own apartment, trying to cool off and ignore the ache of missing him. The TV played in the background, some breaking news about a massive traffic jam. “Fifty luxury vehicles blocking downtown,” the reporter said. You rolled your eyes.

Then the drone footage flashed.

Is that—?Your apartment building.

Wait—your street.

Before the realization could fully hit, your doorbell rang.

You froze, heartbeat tripping over itself.

“No way,” you whispered, already knowing.

Only Matteo would be that dramatic. Only he would deploy fifty cars like a battalion just to make a point. Not his men. Him.

You crept to the door, pulse roaring in your ears. Through the peephole—tailored suit, stormy eyes, jaw set like a man on a mission.

Yeah. It’s him.

And he wasn’t leaving without you.