CHAPTER 2 — THE WOMAN HE COULDN'T CONTROL
Emma spent her first night in Dante Marchetti's building staring at the ceiling.
The mattress was softer than anything she had ever slept on.
The room was larger than her entire apartment in Queens.
And none of it felt safe.
At three in the morning, she walked to the window overlooking Manhattan.
The city glittered beneath her.
Somewhere above her, one floor higher, lived a man who could erase a six-figure hospital debt with a single phone call.
A man who watched people through hidden cameras.
A man she should fear.
Yet for some reason, she could not stop thinking about the way his expression had changed when she cried.
Almost like it hurt him.
The thought irritated her.
By sunrise, she decided on one rule:
She would accept the money.
She would accept the job.
But she would never belong to Dante Marchetti.
The next morning, Vivian handed her a schedule.
"Mr. Marchetti eats breakfast at seven."
"I don't cook."
"You do now."
Emma frowned.
"Why me?"
Vivian looked at her over her glasses.
"Because you're the first employee he's spoken to twice."
That answer was somehow worse.
At exactly seven, Emma entered the penthouse kitchen.
Dante sat at the marble island reading reports.
Three phones.
Two tablets.
One gun resting beside a cup of black coffee.
He didn't look up.
"You're late."
She checked the clock.
7:00 sharp.
"I'm exactly on time."
His mouth twitched.
Barely.
"Interesting."
Emma placed a plate in front of him.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
Nothing fancy.
Dante finally looked up.
"You cooked?"
"Try not to die from shock."
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then, unexpectedly—
Dante laughed.
A real laugh.
Short.
Quiet.
Dangerously attractive.
Emma nearly dropped the coffee pot.
The feared mafia boss noticed.
And enjoyed it far too much.
For the next several weeks, an uneasy routine formed.
Emma cleaned.
Dante worked.
They argued.
Constantly.
About everything.
His schedule.
His security.
His eating habits.
The fact that he considered sleep optional.
One night she found him in his office at two in the morning.
"You haven't slept."
"I'm busy."
"You said that yesterday."
"And?"
"You look terrible."
Dante slowly raised his eyes.
Nobody spoke to him like that.
Nobody.
Yet Emma stood there with folded arms and absolute confidence.
For the first time in years, someone was worried about him instead of afraid of him.
And that terrified him more than any enemy.
Because feelings made people weak.
His father had taught him that.
Love got people killed.
Trust got people buried.
Dante had spent fifteen years proving those lessons true.
Then Emma arrived.
And suddenly he wasn't sure anymore.
Unfortunately, someone else had noticed her too.
Across the city, a rival organization watched Emma's movements.
One photograph.
One innocent woman.
One perfect vulnerability.
The order came shortly afterward.
"Take the girl."
May you like
And for the first time in his life—
Dante Marchetti had something to lose.
