Her Stepsister Tore Her Dress in Public—Then the Mafia King Covered Her with His Coat

The transformation of the fashion industry in Chicago happened overnight.

With the Whitmore Foundation dissolved in disgrace, the newly minted Eleanor Monroe Institute rose from its ashes, occupying a sleek, glass-fronted building in the heart of the design district.

Ava stood on the second-floor balcony of the institute on a crisp autumn morning, watching the students bustle across the sunlit courtyard below, carrying sketchpads and bolts of vibrant fabric.

The dark days of unpaid labor, basement folding tables, and stepsister cruelty were nothing more than a distant, painful memory.

The office door behind her clicked open.

Footsteps approached—steady, unhurried, familiar.

Niko stepped out onto the balcony, holding a pair of steaming coffee cups, handing one to her before resting his hands on the stone balustrade.

"The city council just approved the zoning permits for the new scholarship housing complex on the south side," Niko noted, looking out over the skyline.

Ava took a sip of her coffee, smiling warmly. "That means fifty young women will have secure housing while they complete their studies."

"It means you're changing the city, Ava," Niko corrected gently, turning his head to look at her. "Just like your mother intended."

Ava turned to face him, the gentle breeze catching the dark curls of her hair. "And what about you, Niko? Are you still going to be the terrifying mafia king who runs the city from the shadows?"

Niko chuckled—a deep, resonant sound that warmed the crisp air.

"I am a legitimate businessman now, Miss Monroe," he teased lightly. "Chairman of Moretti Holdings, major patron of the arts, and... professional protector of brilliant designers."

Ava laughed, a bright, musical sound that made Niko’s dark eyes soften with an intensity that went far beyond mere admiration.

"Protector, huh?" Ava teased, raising an eyebrow. "Is that your official job title?"