At the center of the ruined music room, Vittorio Bellandi lay bleeding into a pale rug while a massive black Cane Corso stood over him. Paramedics couldn’t get close. Neither could the surgeon. Someone had already suggested shooting the dog.

Two months later.

The Grand Plaza Hotel in downtown Manhattan was locked down tighter than a military base. Five hundred captains, bosses, dignitaries, and power-brokers from every major crime syndicate across the eastern seaboard gathered in the crystal-lit ballroom for the annual Commission Summit.

Word had spread across the underworld like wildfire: Don Vittorio Bellandi had survived an internal coup, wiped out the Valenti family leadership in a single night, and reorganized his empire into an untouchable fortress.

And tonight, he was introducing his new inner circle.

Inside the private dressing suite overlooking Central Park, Mara stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

She looked breathtaking.

She wore a custom-made emerald velvet gown that hugged every rich curve of her body, spilling into a soft train behind her. Her dark hair was swept up in an intricate arrangement, held by dark emerald pins that shimmered beneath the chandelier. Around her neck sat a heavy, antique diamond necklace—the Bellandi heirloom worn by the matriarchs of the family for three generations.

Behind her, the mirror reflected the broad, imposing figure of Vittorio. He wore a tailored charcoal tuxedo, his obsidian eyes fixed on her reflection with a look of terrifying, absolute adoration.

He stepped behind her, resting his hands lightly on her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest.

“You look like a dream, Mara,” Vittorio murmured, pressing his lips to the side of her soft neck.

Mara placed her hands over his. “I’m still just a nurse, Vittorio. These people... they expect a mafia princess. Someone born to this blood.”

Vittorio turned her around in his arms, looking down into her eyes with burning intensity.

“A mafia princess would have hidden under a bed when the shooting started,” Vittorio said firmly. “A mafia princess wouldn't have faced down a killer doctor, disarmed a traitor, and saved my life three times over. You are worth more than every family in this room combined.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box.

Inside sat a breathtaking six-carat emerald-cut diamond ring, flanked by two deep black sapphires.

Vittorio took her left hand. His long fingers were steady as he slid the ring onto her finger.

“You saved my heart, Mara Donnelly,” Vittorio whispered, his voice dark with emotion. “Now let me give you my life. Be my wife. Be my Queen.”

Tears of pure, overwhelming joy shimmered in Mara’s hazel eyes. “Yes, Vittorio. A thousand times yes.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips against hers in a deep, sweeping, passionate kiss that sealed their fate forever.

The heavy mahogany doors of the suite opened. Baron, wearing a sleek leather collar adorned with silver studs, trotted into the room, thumping his heavy tail against the floorboards.