The Mafia Boss Asked Who Made His Maid Cry - Then His Fiancee Turned Pale When He Revealed the Hospital Secret

Three days after Pier 19, Dante fired me.

He did it over breakfast.

My mother had been moved back to Saint Catherine's under heavy security. Luca had finally seen her for the first time in twenty-six years, though I had not been in the room when it happened.

Vanessa was staying in a secure apartment owned by one of Dante's legitimate companies while federal investigators examined portions of the financial records she had copied from her father.

Victor remained under guard and had begun talking.

Richard Bennett was still missing.

And Dante chose eight fifteen on a rainy Tuesday morning to say, "You don't work for me anymore."

I set down my coffee.

"Excuse me?"

He sat across from me in the small breakfast room, one arm still bandaged beneath a black sweater.

"You're fired."

I stared at him.

"You get shot once and become insane?"

"Possibly."

"Dante."

"Your final paycheck includes three months' severance."

Anger rose so fast I nearly stood.

"I don't want severance. I want an explanation."

"You're getting both."

He slid an envelope across the table.

I did not touch it.

"Why?"

His gaze held mine.

"Because I told you I love you."

The anger stopped halfway through me.

"What does that have to do with my job?"

"Everything."

He leaned back.

"For two years, I signed your paychecks. I controlled the roof over your head. I had the power to make your daily life easier or harder, whether I used that power or not."

He glanced at the envelope.

"If I ask you to be with me while that relationship still exists, you can never be completely certain that saying no is free."

I stared at him.

No romantic speech could have affected me more.

"So you're firing me to make it easier for me to reject you?"

"Yes."

"That's possibly the least flattering proposal I've ever heard."

"It isn't a proposal."

"Good, because you're terrible at this."

He almost smiled.

"I know."

I finally opened the envelope.

Inside was a check, a letter confirming termination without cause, and a lease agreement for a small apartment on the Upper West Side.

The lease had my name on it.

Rent paid for six months.

I looked up sharply.

"No."

"It's optional."

"I am not letting you buy me an apartment."

"I'm not buying it. I'm providing temporary housing because you lived at your place of employment and I just removed your employment."

"You are impossible."

"I've heard that."

I pushed the lease back.

"I'll take the severance because legally you probably owe it to me for the emotional damage of working for you."

His eyebrow lifted.

"Probably."

"But I'll find my own apartment."

"Fine."

I stared at him suspiciously.

"You're giving in too easily."

"I'm learning."

"That sounds dangerous."

"For everyone."

I laughed.

Then the laughter faded.

"What happens now?"

He looked at me for a long time.

"Now you decide what you want your life to be without asking what I need from you."

My eyes burned.

I hated how easily he could undo me when he was not trying to.

"And what if I decide I want you in it?"

His expression changed.

"Then I will be very difficult to get rid of."

I looked down at my coffee.

"I already knew that."

Later that morning, I went to the hospital.

My mother sat propped against pillows with color finally returning to her face.

Across from her sat Luca.

He looked as if he had not slept.

On the table between them rested two cups of untouched tea.

I stopped in the doorway.

My mother saw me first.

"Come in."

I hesitated.

Luca stood.

"I can leave."

"No," I said. "Stay."

I sat beside my mother.

For several minutes, none of us spoke.

Then I asked the question that had been sitting in my chest for days.

"Did you love him all this time?"

My mother looked at Luca.

Tears filled her eyes.

"Yes."

Luca lowered his head.

"Even when you thought he was dead?"

"Especially then. Dead men are easier to love. They can't disappoint you."

Luca actually laughed.

It was quiet and painful.

"I probably deserved that."

My mother looked at him.

"You deserve much worse."

"I know."

The familiarity between them made my throat ache.

Time had changed their faces, but some part of their connection had survived untouched.

"Are you going to forgive him?" I asked her.

She turned to me.

"I don't know."

That surprised me.

"You still love him."

"Love and forgiveness are not the same thing."

She squeezed my hand.

"And neither one requires pretending the hurt didn't happen."

I thought of Dante.

Of Vanessa.

Of Richard.

Of my own instinct to excuse people I loved before they had even asked.

"I think I needed to hear that."

My mother smiled faintly.

"Then my work here is done."

"You're not dying, so don't get dramatic."

"I raised you. I'm allowed."

Luca smiled at me.

I did not smile back.

Not yet.

But I did not ask him to leave either.

That was something.

In the hallway, Luca stopped me.

"Dante loves you."

I stared at him.

"You're giving me relationship advice now?"

"No. God, no. I'm spectacularly unqualified."

Despite myself, I smiled.

He continued.

"I'm only telling you something I saw. At Pier 19, when Bennett moved, Dante didn't look at the weapon. He looked at you."

I remembered the way Dante had stepped between me and the gunshot.

"That isn't necessarily healthy."

"No."

Luca's smile faded.

"But don't make my mistake either. Don't convince yourself that staying away from someone is always the noble choice. Sometimes fear dresses itself up as sacrifice."

I left the hospital thinking about that sentence.

That afternoon, I met with a social worker from Saint Catherine's whom I had known for years. She had often helped me navigate charity programs, insurance appeals, and medication assistance for my mother.

Her name was Leah Rosen.

When I told her I had lost my job, she said, "Good."

I stared at her.

"Good?"

"You've been talking for a year about wanting to work in patient advocacy."

"Talking isn't the same as being qualified."

"You spent five years managing your mother's care while working full time. You know insurance systems better than half the people we hire."

She pushed a job listing toward me.

Patient Assistance Coordinator.

Entry level.

Salary lower than what Dante paid me, but enough to live.

"Apply," she said.

So I did.

I did not tell Dante.

Not because it was a secret.

Because I wanted one thing in my life that existed before he could solve it for me.

That evening, I returned to the mansion to collect the last of my belongings.

Mrs. Alvarez cried and hugged me so hard I nearly dropped a box.

"You are still coming for Sunday dinner," she ordered.

"Apparently I don't get a vote."

"Correct."

Dante found me in the servants' corridor with a cardboard box full of books.

He took it from my hands.

"I can carry that."

"I know."

"Then give it back."

"No."

"You fired me this morning. You no longer have authority over my boxes."

"The box appears to disagree."

I rolled my eyes and followed him upstairs.

He carried it to the front hall.

My taxi was waiting outside.

For some reason, that was the moment everything became real.

I was leaving the Moretti mansion.

Not fleeing.

Not being thrown out.

Leaving because my life was changing.

Dante set the box down.

"Where are you staying?"

"With Leah for a few days."

"Is the building secure?"

"Don't start."

He exhaled.

"I'm trying."

"I know."

We stood facing each other beneath the chandelier where, three nights earlier, he had asked who made me cry.

It felt like another lifetime.

"Dante."

"Yes?"

"I applied for a job today."

His face brightened in a way that surprised me.

"Doing what?"

"Patient assistance at the hospital."

"You'll be good at that."

"You don't know if they'll hire me."

"They would be stupid not to."

"That wasn't the point."

"I know."

He stepped closer.

"I'm proud of you."

My throat tightened.

"You don't get to say things like that and expect me to stay sensible."

His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.

"I have never expected you to be sensible."

My heart pounded.

"You said I should decide what I want."

"Yes."

"I decided something."

He waited.

I reached up, gripped the front of his sweater, and kissed him.

For half a second, he did not move.

Then one hand came to my waist and the other touched my cheek with such care that tears sprang into my eyes.

The kiss was nothing like the world around him.

No violence.

No power.

No command.

Just warmth.

Choice.

And months of things neither of us had said.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine.

"Are you crying?"

I laughed softly.

"Don't ask who did it."

"I was about to."

"It was you."

His thumb brushed beneath my eye.

"Then I should probably apologize."

"Maybe later."

The front gate alarm sounded.

Dante's expression changed instantly.

Marco's voice came through his phone.

"Dante. We found Richard Bennett."

Dante looked at me.

"Where?"

Marco's answer made all the warmth leave the room.

"Saint Catherine's Hospital."

My mother's hospital.

Before I could move, Dante caught my wrist - gently, nothing like Vanessa had done that first night.

"One thing," he said.

I turned back.

"If this is another rule, I'm leaving without the box."

"It isn't."

His expression was serious.

"Whatever happens with Richard, I don't want tonight to become another excuse for us to postpone living until every danger is gone."

The sentence surprised me.

"That sounds suspiciously like something Luca said."

"Then never tell him. He'll become unbearable."

I smiled.

Dante's thumb brushed the inside of my wrist.

"I spent years believing life would begin after the next problem was solved. After the next alliance. After the next threat. There is always another one."

"That's depressing."

"It's realistic."

"Still depressing."

His mouth curved.

"Then let me say it differently. I don't want fear to choose the timing of everything good in my life anymore."

I looked at him and felt the truth of it settle between us.

"Neither do I."

He kissed my forehead once, then stepped back before either of us could pretend the alarm at the gate had not changed the night.

"Come on," he said.