She faints in a grocery store—but the mafia boss who catches her notices hidden bruises and uncovers a truth that changes everything

in dark jeans and a black sweater instead of his coat. He poured himself a whiskey and leaned against the counter, watching her with those winter-colored eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” she said. “Thank you. For the room. The food. Everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I think I do.”

“I made calls,” he said. “Bram won’t be a problem anymore.”

Her continue reading …