She Warned the Older Mafia Boss, “Someone Will See Us”—He Pulled Her Closer and Said, “Let Them.”

Morning arrived with a pale winter sun piercing the pine trees outside Rosalie’s bedroom window.

She woke under a duvet of goose down, feeling more rested than she had in a decade. But the peaceful illusion shattered the moment she walked into the estate's kitchen.

Edmund was already seated at the island, reviewing documents on an iPad while Michael stood near the rear door, speaking in clipped whispers into a secure satellite phone. On the granite counter sat three separate local newspapers.

Rosalie looked down. Her breath caught in her throat.

On the front page of the city society section was a high-resolution photograph taken from the edge of the ballroom.

There she was—in her plain black work dress, the wire clearly visible behind her ear, her head tilted upward toward Edmund Hawthorne. Edmund’s hand was firm on her back, his eyes fixed on her with unmistakable devotion.

The headline blared: **THE KINGPIN’S UNEXPECTED MUSE: WHO IS ROSALIE BENNETT?**

“My phone has been buzzing since five a.m.,” Rosalie said, pressing her hand against her forehead. “My landlord. Two floral suppliers. My aunt in Ohio.”

Edmund set the tablet down. “Your phone will be replaced with an encrypted line this afternoon. Clara will screen your calls.”

“Edmund, this is insane,” Rosalie said, walking over to the counter. “People are going to dig into my life. They’re going to find out about my mother leaving, about Ruth’s debts before she died, about—”

“Let them dig,” Edmund said coldly. “Every debt your grandmother owed was paid off six hours ago. The title to your brick house is now clear of all liens and transferred into a private family trust under your name.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped. “You paid off my mortgage? Without asking me?”

“Consider it a retainer.”

“A retainer for what?”

Before Edmund could reply, Michael ended his call and stepped forward, his expression grave. “Boss. Julianna Vance has requested an emergency sit-down at the Denver Athletic Club at noon. She says she has an offer regarding the dock distribution contract.”

Edmund’s eyes narrowed into slits of flint. “Julianna doesn't make offers. She sets traps.”

“She specifically requested that Miss Bennett attend,” Michael added quietly.

The kitchen went dead silent.

Rosalie looked between the two men, her blood running cold. “Me? Why would she want me there?”

“Because she wants to inspect the weapon I intend to use against her,” Edmund replied, rising from his stool with predatory grace. He walked over to Rosalie, looking down at her with an intense, calculated warmth. “She believes you are my weakness, Rosie. She believes you are a common worker who can be intimidated into betraying me or running away.”

“Can she?” Rosalie asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Edmund, I don't know how to play these games. I don't carry guns. I don't know how to negotiate with mobsters.”

Edmund reached out, catching her chin between his fingers. “You don't need to negotiate. You only need to sit beside me, look her in the eye, and let her realize that you are untouchable.”

“And what if she attacks you?”

Edmund smiled—a slow, terrifying flash of white teeth that revealed the dangerous beast lurking beneath his civilized veneer.