"The mafia boss hadn’t let a woman near his bed in five years—until his exhausted maid fell asleep beside him with a dangerous fever.

Six months later.

Summer had arrived in Chicago. The frozen, icy grounds of the Russo estate were now blooming with vibrant red roses, green ivy, and bright sunlight.

The front gates stood open, welcoming high-society guests, international businessmen, and family heads from across the country.

In the grand suite on the second floor, Chloe stood in front of a full-length mirror wearing an exquisite ivory silk gown with delicate lace sleeves. Her long brown hair was styled in an elegant updo, fastened with a diamond comb that had once belonged to Victor’s mother.

A gentle knock sounded at the door.

Mrs. Gable walked inside, holding a bouquet of fresh white lilies. Tears glistened in the older woman's gray eyes as she looked at Chloe.

"You look stunning, my dear," Mrs. Gable whispered, setting the flowers on the vanity table. "I remember when you first walked through these doors six months ago, looking like a breeze could blow you away."

"I was terrified back then," Chloe smiled, looking at her reflection. "I thought this house was a prison."

"It was a prison," Mrs. Gable agreed softly. "Until you gave its master a reason to live."

Downstairs in the grand chapel built on the estate grounds, organ music echoed through the high stone arches.

Victor Russo stood at the altar wearing a flawless midnight-blue tuxedo. Beside him stood Marco as his best man. Victor’s dark eyes were fixed on the heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel.

The doors opened slowly.

Chloe stepped into the light, holding her bouquet of lilies, walking down the white runner toward him.

The hardened mob bosses, politicians, and syndicate leaders in the pews looked on in awe. They knew the story. They knew this was the girl who had survived the fever, stitched Victor's wounds, and brought down the Donati empire.

She wasn't just a maid anymore.

She was the undisputed queen of the Russo empire.

When she reached the altar, Victor took her hand. His grip was warm, strong, and unwavering.

"You look breathtaking, Bennett," Victor whispered, a genuine, dazzling smile breaking across his handsome face—a smile his men had never seen in twenty years.

"I told you not to call me Bennett," Chloe whispered back, her brown eyes shining with happiness.

"My apologies, Mrs. Russo," Victor corrected smoothly, his thumb stroking her palm.

The priest read the ancient vows, but neither Victor nor Chloe heard the words. They were lost in each other’s eyes, remembering the cold December night when an exhausted girl had curled under a charcoal-gray comforter, searching for warmth in a cold world.

"You may kiss the bride," the priest finally announced.

Victor didn't hesitate. He pulled Chloe into his arms, dipping her slightly as he pressed his lips to hers in a deep, passionate kiss that sealed their fates forever.

The chapel erupted into wild applause and cheers.

Later that evening, after the grand reception had ended and the guests had departed, Victor and Chloe walked out onto the private balcony of their suite, looking at the warm summer stars above Chicago.

The city was quiet, peaceful, and entirely theirs.

Victor wrapped his arms around Chloe from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, pulling her close against his broad chest.

"Five years ago," Victor whispered into her ear, "I swore no woman would ever enter my bed, my heart, or my life."

Chloe leaned back against him, closing her eyes, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart against her back.

"And now?" she asked softly.