"I Caught My Fiancé Framing Me for a $50M Federal Crime, So I Made a Deal With the Deadliest Billionaire in New York—And He Demanded Me as Payment!"

The penthouse overlooking Central Park was flooded with morning light.

Alex stood on the private terrace, holding a warm cup of coffee, breathing in the fresh spring air. The nightmare of the past months had dissolved, replaced by a life of extraordinary peace, purpose, and passion.

Her mother’s foundation was now the leading antiquities authority in the world, headquartered in the historic brownstone in Brooklyn—the very one with the absurd red door she had loved years ago, which Dante had bought for her and restored to perfection.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Dante pulled her flush against his chest, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his morning stubble tickling her skin.

"You're awake early, Mrs. Moretti," he murmured, his voice deep and raspy with sleep.

"I was thinking about the night at the Pierre," Alex smiled, leaning back against his solid chest. "You told me in the elevator that I was running."

"You were," Dante teased gently, kissing the curve of her shoulder. "Right into my arms."

"And you told me I would leave with you that night."

"I always get what I want," Dante said, his hands resting possessively on her hips. "Especially when it comes to the only woman who ever brought me to my knees."

Alex turned in his arms, wrapping her hands around his neck and looking up into the face of the man who had fought beside her, protected her, and loved her with an intensity that took her breath away every single day.