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

Before Salvatore Moretti could pull the heavy double-action trigger, Roman did something completely devoid of tactical logic and entirely born of feral, possessive fury.

He threw himself directly in front of Sadi, using his own body as an impenetrable human shield.

BANG.

The deafening roar of the heavy revolver echoed down the marble hallway.

The bullet struck Roman high in the right shoulder, tearing through the fine wool of his tuxedo jacket and spraying dark crimson against the white wall behind them. Roman grunted, his massive frame shuddering from the impact, but he didn't fall.

"ROMAN!" Sadi screamed, horror ripping through her throat.

Fueled by pure adrenaline and murderous rage, Roman raised his Glock with his uninjured left hand and fired three consecutive rounds straight through Salvatore Moretti’s chest.

Salvatore’s eyes widened in shock. The revolver slipped from his lifeless fingers, and the last surviving head of the Moretti crime syndicate collapsed backward into the elevator, dead before his body hit the brass floor.

The sound of pounding boots echoed down the service corridor as Roman’s primary tactical squad, led by his top lieutenant Dante, burst through the stairwell doors with submachine guns raised.

"Boss! Target neutralized!" Dante shouted, assessing the dead syndicate leader instantly. "We have the perimeter secured. Medics are standing by at the transport."

Roman leaned heavily against the marble wall, his right arm hanging limp, dark blood soaking rapidly through his white dress shirt and silk vest. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow, but his dark eyes remained entirely fixed on Sadi.

"Are you... hurt?" Roman rasped, his voice strained with pain.

"Am I hurt?!" Sadi sobbed, dropping to her knees beside him, pressing her hands frantically against his bleeding shoulder to stem the flow. "You took a bullet for me, you idiot! You took a bullet!"

"I would take... a thousand more," Roman whispered, his lips parting in a faint, bloody smile before his eyes rolled back, and his massive body slumped into her arms.

Four hours later, Roman was lying in the private, fully equipped medical wing located in the subterranean level of his estate.

A private mob surgeon had successfully extracted the hollow-point round, repaired the shredded muscle tissue in his shoulder, and administered two units of blood. Roman was resting under heavy sedation, his chest bare, bandages wrapped tightly across his upper torso.

Sadi had refused to leave his side.

She sat in the leather armchair beside the hospital bed, her midnight-blue gown ruined with Roman’s blood, her fingers tightly intertwined with his uninjured left hand. She hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, and hadn't washed the stains from her skin.

Around 3:00 AM, Dante walked quietly into the medical suite, holding an iPad.

"Miss Miller," Dante said respectfully, bowing his head slightly. "You need to see this."

Sadi blinked tiredly, looking at the tablet. "What is it?"

"While you and Mr. Rossi were at the gala, this individual attempted to breach the front gates of the compound," Dante explained, pulling up a security recording. "The perimeter team intercepted him immediately."

On the screen was Derek Vance.

He was disheveled, clearly intoxicated, and screaming wildly at the heavily armed guards standing at the iron gates.

"Let me in!" Derek was yelling on the video. "Sadi is my girlfriend! She’s being held hostage by a mafia boss! I know she’s working undercover! I have private photos of us from college—I’ll sell them to the Chicago Tribune if you don't bring her out right now!"

A cold, dangerous fury ignited in Sadi’s chest—a feeling she had never experienced before.

Derek wasn't just pathetic; he was a cowardly leech trying to monetize her survival, willing to ruin her reputation and endanger her life just to extract a payday from the media.

"Where is he now?" Sadi asked, her voice dropping into a low, deadly calm that sounded shockingly like Roman’s.

"We have him detained in the secondary holding room in the carriage house," Dante replied smoothly. "Mr. Rossi’s orders regarding intruders are absolute, but given his condition... we await your instruction, Miss Miller."

Sadi looked down at Roman’s sleeping, pale face. She reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead, feeling the steady beat of his heart.