His fiancée ordered me to lick poisoned wine off the Persian rug after whipping me twice, but she never expected the mafia boss to discover why I destroyed that decanter...

Six months later.

Spring had returned to the northern coast. The salt cliffs were dotted with wild lavender and blooming sea roses, their sweet fragrance drifting into the newly constructed wing of the Moretti fortress: the Alexander Vance Institute of Applied Toxicology.

It was a state-of-the-art biological and chemical research facility, fully funded by the syndicate's legitimate pharmaceutical shell companies. Here, I employed thirty top-tier young scientists—many of them women from working-class backgrounds whose brilliance had been overlooked by elite universities.

I stood over an electron microscope in a crisp, pristine white lab coat embroidered with my name: *Dr. Cora Vance-Moretti*.

On the screen was the molecular structure of the synthetic antidote we had developed to neutralize the cartel’s neurotoxins permanently. A breakthrough that would save thousands of lives and completely destroy the black-market demand for Julian Sterling’s biological weapons.

"Donna Cora," a voice interrupted my concentration.

I looked up. Marco was standing by the airlock door, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"What is it, Marco?" I asked, setting down my digital stylus.

"The Don requested your presence in the courtyard. Immediately."

"Is there a security breach?" I asked, my instincts instantly flaring.

"No, Donna," Marco said, a strange, hesitant smile touching his scar-crossed face. "Just... come see."

I removed my protective gloves, hung my lab coat by the door, and followed Marco through the stone corridors toward the central courtyard.

When I stepped into the sunlight, my breath caught.

The courtyard had been transformed. The cold cobblestones were covered in hundreds of lush potted lemon trees, imported directly from Sicily—Dante's grandmother's favorite trees. In the center of the courtyard sat a sleek, custom-built vintage roadster, a deep midnight blue with a tan leather interior.

Leaning against the driver's side was Dante, wearing a simple white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking younger and more relaxed than I had ever seen him.

"What is all this?" I asked, walking toward him, the sea breeze catching my loose hair.

"A celebration," Dante said, opening his arms.

I walked straight into them, wrapping my arms around his neck as he lifted me off my feet, swinging me in a small circle before setting me down and planting a deep, lingering kiss on my lips.

"A celebration for what?" I smiled against his cheek. "We cleared the cartel’s last outpost two weeks ago."

"For the patent approval," Dante said, pulling a folded document with the gold seal of the United States Patent Office from his pocket. "The Vance Antidote was officially recognized this morning. Your father’s legacy is now permanently etched into medical history, fully independent of the syndicate."

Tears pricked my eyes as I looked at the certificate. Alexander Vance was no longer remembered as a disgraced mob chemist. He was the father of a miracle drug, and his daughter had completed his life's work.

"Thank you, Dante," I whispered, burying my face in his chest. "You gave me everything back."

"You gave yourself everything back, Cora," he murmured, his hands smoothing over the curve of my back, fingers resting possessively against the small of my waist. "I just opened the door. You walked through it and conquered the room."

He pulled a small silver key from his pocket and pressed it into my palm.

"And the roadster?" I raised an eyebrow, amused.

"You've spent six months working sixteen hours a day in that laboratory," Dante said, his dark eyes gleaming with wicked anticipation. "I packed two bags in the trunk. We are driving up the coast to our cabin in Maine for two weeks. No phones. No council meetings. No test tubes."

I laughed, a bright, melodic sound that echoed across the stone courtyard. "Are you abducting me, Don Moretti?"

"Legally, I am kidnapping my own wife," he replied smoothly, opening the passenger door for me with a flourish. "Get in, Donna Moretti. Let me take care of you for a change."

I slid onto the plush leather seat, feeling the warmth of the sun and the absolute, unshakeable security of his love surrounding me. Dante slid behind the wheel, gunned the engine with a deep, purring roar, and steered us through the open iron gates of the estate, heading toward the open coastal highway.