The billionaire’s wife saw the shooter before anyone else did.

One year later.

The afternoon sun cast a warm golden light over the sprawling gardens of the Moretti estate in Old Westbury. The white roses were in full bloom, filling the air with a sweet, delicate fragrance.

On the terrace overlooking the lawn, Donna Isabella sat in a comfortable armchair, sipping iced tea while watching a small wooden crib sitting beside her.

Inside the crib, a four-month-old baby girl with dark auburn hair and bright grey eyes kicked her tiny feet happily.

Gabriel stepped out onto the terrace, wearing a casual white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He walked over to the crib, leaning down to scoop his daughter up into his broad arms, holding her gently against his chest.

"Is she sleeping well, Mother?" Gabriel asked, smiling down at the baby.

"She sleeps like a angel, Gabriel," Isabella smiled warmly. "She has her mother’s peaceful heart."

The terrace doors opened, and Mara stepped outside. She wore a simple yellow sun-dress that accentuated her glowing skin and full, beautiful figure. She looked healthy, vibrant, and completely at peace.

Gabriel’s eyes instantly locked onto his wife, a look of endless love lighting up his face. He walked over, wrapping his free arm around Mara’s waist, pulling her flush against his side.

"How are you feeling, my love?" Gabriel asked softly, kissing the side of her temple.

"I’m perfect," Mara murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder, her hand resting over the baby’s back. "Everything is perfect."

In the distance, the front gates of the estate remained closed, guarded by loyal Moretti soldiers, but inside the walls, there was only peace, warmth, and laughter.

The girl who had once been mocked as the "chubby fake wife" had taken three bullets, survived an empire’s collapse, and rewritten her destiny.

She had saved the crime boss's life—and in doing so, she had captured his heart forever.

"I love you, Gabriel," Mara whispered under the blue summer sky.