"The Billionaire Mob Boss Claimed His Plus-Size Maid as His Fiancée Just to Ruin Her Toxic Ex—Then He Made It Real!"

The silence that followed the shotgun blast was absolute, broken only by the whistling wind off Lake Michigan and Sadi’s heavy, ragged breathing.

Roman dropped the heavy weapon onto the concrete floor. He crossed the remaining distance in two frantic strides, pulling a tactical blade from his belt and slicing through the ropes binding her wrists and ankles.

The moment she was free, Sadi collapsed forward into his arms.

Roman caught her, lifting her entirely off the cold concrete, pressing her face against his neck. His massive chest heaved with deep, shuddering breaths, his fingers tangling desperately in her dark hair as if assuring himself that she was whole, warm, and alive.

"I have you," Roman whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate agony he had never shown to another living soul. "I have you, Sadi. You are safe."

"I knew you were coming," she sobbed against his neck, clinging to his heavy coat. "I knew you wouldn't let them take me."

"Never," Roman swore, kissing her temples, her cheeks, and finally her lips with a fierce, possessive hunger that made the cold warehouse vanish entirely. "I will burn this entire continent to ash before I let anyone take you from me."

He carried her out of the ruined facility in his arms, refusing to let her feet touch the dirt, placing her gently into the heated interior of his armored command transport.

That night, the Rossi compound was transformed into a fortress of celebration.

The entire criminal underworld of Chicago had received the message loud and clear: Roman Rossi’s fiancée was untouchable. The last remnants of rebellion had been extinguished, and Roman’s rule over the city was absolute and unquestioned.

In the master suite, the fire crackled warmly in the hearth.

Sadi sat on the edge of the massive bed, wearing a soft silk robe, while Roman sat on a low stool between her knees, gently applying soothing antiseptic balm to the faint rope burns on her wrists. His touch was impossibly gentle, a stark, beautiful contrast to the lethal violence he had unleashed hours earlier.

"You should rest, Roman," Sadi murmured softly, looking down at his handsome, battle-scarred face. "Your shoulder took a beating today."

Roman stopped, looking up at her with dark, burning eyes that held an eternity of devotion.

"I don't need rest, Sadi," he whispered. "I need you."

He reached into his pocket and produced a small, velvet-lined box. But this time, it was not the five-carat emerald cut from the country club.

He opened it to reveal a custom-designed platinum band set with a rare, deep-green Colombian emerald surrounded by a halo of flawless pink diamonds—an art-piece crafted specifically to match the warmth and brilliance of her soul.

"The first ring was for an alibi," Roman said, his voice rich with emotion as he took her left hand in his. "This ring is for the rest of my life."

He looked directly into her eyes, stripping away every shred of his mafia armor.

"Sadi Miller, you walked into my kitchen when I was drowning in darkness, and you showed me what it means to be human. Will you marry me? For real. In front of the world."