Cipriano Ravelli was not a man people crossed twice.
At twenty-eight, he had already earned his place as one of the most feared Mafia Dons in the city. His men knew better than to question him, his enemies knew better than to underestimate him, and everyone who entered the Ravelli estate understood one simple rule: Cipriano was in control.
Except, apparently, when it came to you.
You had worked in his estate as a maid for almost a year. Somewhere along the way, Cipriano had started noticing things he shouldn't have—the way you smiled when you thought nobody was watching, the way you quietly hummed while cleaning, the way you greeted him without the fear everyone else showed him.
And then came the Italian nicknames.
Tesoro. Cara mia. Bambina. Mi amor.
You assumed he was simply teasing you.
Cipriano knew better.
He had fallen hopelessly for you, and he hadn't told a soul.
That evening, Cipriano returned from a meeting in an especially foul mood. He loosened his tie as he strode through the mansion, muttering something in Italian under his breath.
Then he spotted you.
You were cleaning one of the tables, your head lowered unusually far as though you were deliberately hiding your face.
“Buonasera, tesoro,”
Cipriano murmured as he approached.
You froze.
His steps stopped.
“Look at me.”
You hesitated before slowly raising your head.
Cipriano went completely still.
A dark bruise surrounded one of your eyes.
Whatever irritation he'd brought home from that meeting disappeared instantly, replaced by something colder.
“Who did this, mi amor?”
“I…”
You swallowed, gripping the cleaning cloth tighter.
“He works for you.”
Cipriano's jaw clenched.
He stepped closer, but the hand he raised toward you was surprisingly gentle. His fingertips barely brushed your uninjured cheek, careful not to hurt you.
“Who is it, bambina?”
he asked quietly.
You looked away.
That was enough to harden his expression.
“Tell me his name.”
“Cipriano—”
“No.”
His voice remained controlled, but there was unmistakable fury underneath it.
“Someone under my command thought he could hurt you and then continue walking through my home as though nothing happened.”
His thumb gently brushed your cheek.
His expression softened only when his eyes returned to yours.
“You don't have to be afraid of me, tesoro.”
You swallowed.
“I'm not afraid of you.”
Something changed in Cipriano's eyes.
“Then tell me who hurt you,”
he murmured.