BECAUSE OF HIS SIZE, THE MAFIA BOSS WAS REJECTED BY FIVE FIANCÉES WHO CALLED HIM A MONSTER — UNTIL A CLUMSY AMERICAN BAKER AGREED TO BECOME HIS BRIDE AND UNCOVERED THE DEADLIEST SECRET IN MILAN!

Two days before the Milanese Gala, Luca received an urgent summons to the Moretti private shipping docks in Lecco. A critical shipment of automated machinery from Germany had been flagged by customs, and the port authority required the Don’s personal biometric authorization.

"I'm coming with you," I declared, pulling on a warm leather jacket as Luca strapped a shoulder holster over his crisp white shirt in the master dressing room.

Luca paused, turning to face me with a stern, protective frown. "The mountain roads are not safe right now, Sophia. Dante’s men are watching every exit from the lake."

"Which is exactly why you're not leaving me behind in an empty house, and why I'm not letting you drive into a potential trap alone," I shot back, crossing my arms. "Besides, Elena took half the security detail to Milan to secure the Gala ballroom. You need someone in the passenger seat who can call for backup if things go sideways."

Luca stared at me for several long seconds, his jaw working silently. Finally, a small, begrudging smirk touched his lips.

"You are the most stubborn woman on this continent," he grunted, reaching into his drawer and handing me a compact, lightweight communicator linked to our private satellite network. "Keep this in your pocket. If anything happens, you stay down in the floorboards. Understand?"

"Understood, boss."

We took the reinforced, armored Mercedes SUV down the winding coastal highway. The night was pitch-black, with heavy fog rolling off the lake, obscuring the jagged cliffside drops. Marco, Luca’s veteran capo, drove the lead security sedan fifty yards ahead of us.

We were ten miles south of Bellagio, navigating a narrow hairpin turn framed by sheer limestone cliffs on one side and a two-hundred-foot plunge into the black water on the other, when the trap was sprung.

A deafening BOOM echoed off the mountain rock.

A massive tree trunk, rigged with high explosives, blasted loose from the upper ridge, crashing down directly across the road and obliterating Marco's lead sedan into a twisted ball of metal.

"Down!" Luca roared, his massive right arm slamming across my chest, forcing me down into the reinforced footwell before I could even scream.

Automatic gunfire erupted from the dark tree line above.

Bullets hammered against the SUV’s reinforced ballistic glass like a hailstorm of lead, spiderwebbing the windshield but failing to pierce the armored plating.

"Hold on!" Luca shouted.

With lethal calm, he slammed the transmission into reverse, flooring the accelerator. The heavy SUV roared backward, tires smoking against the wet asphalt.

Through the rear camera screen on the dashboard, I saw a second black van barrel out from a hidden logging trail, attempting to box us in from behind.

"They're flanking us!" I yelled over the deafening racket of gunfire.

Luca didn't flinch. Instead of braking, he stomped on the gas, steering the heavy, three-ton armored Mercedes straight into the oncoming van.

CRASH!

The impact was bone-jarring. The reinforced steel bumper of our SUV sheared through the radiator of the ambush van, shoving it violently off the road and wedging it against the cliff wall.

Luca immediately killed the headlights, plunging us into the foggy darkness. He drew his twin semi-automatic pistols from his holsters, his eyes turning to lethal ice.

"Three shooters on the high ridge. Two approaching from the rear van," Luca calculated with cold, military precision. "Sophia, stay in the vehicle. The glass will hold."

"Luca, wait—"

He was already moving.

Luca kicked the heavy driver's door open, using it as a steel shield as he stepped out into the freezing fog. He didn't look like a mob boss; he moved with the terrifying speed and brutal efficiency of a mythological war god.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Luca fired with pinpoint accuracy into the dark tree line. Two muffled screams echoed from the rocks as two snipers tumbled from the ridge onto the road.

The remaining two mercenaries from the rear van charged through the fog, assault rifles raised.

Luca didn't even wait for them to aim.

He closed the distance in three massive strides, grabbing the barrel of the first rifle with his bare hand and twisting it with enough raw torque to snap the shooter’s wrist with a sickening crack. In the same motion, he drove a devastating elbow into the second man's jaw, knocking him unconscious before he even hit the pavement.

Suddenly, from the shadows behind the crushed van, a fifth shooter emerged—raising a sawed-off shotgun aimed directly at Luca’s exposed back.

"Luca, behind you!" I screamed.

Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy steel tire iron from beneath the passenger seat, threw open the door, and hurled myself out into the road.

"Hey, asshole!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

The gunman startled, his eyes darting toward me for a split second.

That split second was all Luca needed.

Luca spun on his heel, his massive arm whipping around like an iron club. His fist connected with the gunman’s face with the force of a freight train. The man flew backward six feet, landing motionless against the rock face.

Silence returned to the mountain pass, broken only by the hiss of steam from the shattered radiators and the distant sound of approaching sirens.

Luca stood in the middle of the road, his chest heaving, his dark hair damp with fog, looking at the five defeated assassins lying around him.

Then his eyes locked onto me.

I was standing in the middle of the road, clutching the tire iron with both hands, my knuckles white, my breathing ragged.

Luca dropped his weapons onto the hood of the car and strode toward me. Before I could say a word, his massive arms swept around me, lifting me entirely off the ground and crushing me against his broad, muscular chest.

His heart was hammering violently against my cheek. He buried his face in my hair, his large hands trembling slightly as he held me with terrifying, desperate intensity.

"You got out of the car," he whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of terror and awe. "You crazy, beautiful woman... you got out of the car to save me."