The Ruthless Don Stole My Life To Save His Father—Then Caught Me In His Bed

One month later, the cold New York winter had given way to the crisp, golden light of early spring.

In the historic cemetery overlooking the Hudson River, a crowd of hundreds stood in silent, solemn reverence. Matteo Valente had passed away peacefully in his sleep three days after the rescue, with his son holding his right hand and Isa holding his left.

Before he drew his final breath, the high council of the five families had gathered at his bedside to sign the official exoneration of Julian Hayes. The stolen twenty million was officially recorded as an embezzlement committed by Carlo Valente, and Julian's name was etched into the syndicate’s public records not as a thief, but as a martyr who had stood for honor.

Now, beneath the towering marble monument of the Valente family vault, Richi and Isa stood side by side before two neighboring gravestones: Matteo Valente and Julian Hayes, laid to rest with full honors beside one another.

Richi was dressed in an impeccable black three-piece suit, his dark hair neatly combed, his features softer than they had ever been in his entire life. Beside him, Isa wore a sophisticated emerald green coat that brought out the vibrant warmth of her eyes.

When the last of the mourners and bodyguards had stepped back to the waiting convoy of black sedans, only the two of them remained under the gentle sway of the budding willow trees.

Richi took Isa's gloved hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a warm, tender kiss against her knuckles.

""Your sister’s new apartment in Manhattan is ready,"" Richi said softly, his deep voice carrying a peaceful resonance. ""Her culinary school tuition has been paid in full for the next four years. And the property deed for the bakery on Fifth Avenue—the one your father always dreamed of opening for you—was placed under your legal name this morning.""

Isa looked up at him, a faint, teasing smile touching her lips despite the sadness in her heart. ""Are you trying to bribe me into staying, Mr. Valente?""

Richi reached into his inside coat pocket.

He didn't pull out a ledger. He didn't pull out a weapon.

He pulled out a small black velvet box, snapping it open to reveal a breathtaking five-carat emerald-cut diamond ring flanked by two deep-green sapphires.

He dropped down onto one knee on the fresh green grass, looking up into the eyes of the woman who had brought light into his darkest corners.

""I spent my entire life believing that the only way to protect what I loved was to destroy everything around it,"" Richi said, his voice thick with raw, honest emotion. ""Then a curvy, stubborn baker walked into my kitchen, swung a copper pan at my enemies, threw marble statues at assassins, and taught me how to live again.""

He took her trembling left hand in his.

""I don't want you as my cook, Isa. I don't want you as my captive. I want you as my wife, my partner, and the absolute queen of everything I own. If you want me to leave the syndicate, I will step down tomorrow and let Marco run the family. I will wash dishes in your bakery for the rest of my days. Just say you'll stay.""

Tears of pure happiness spilled over Isa's eyelashes. She let out a breathless, joyful laugh and threw her arms around his broad neck, pulling him up from the ground.

""You would make a terrible dishwasher, Richi Valente,"" she whispered against his smiling lips. ""You're far too bossy.""

""Is that a yes?"" he murmured, sliding the brilliant diamond onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

""Yes,"" Isa breathed, locking her hands behind his neck as his strong arms lifted her off the ground, spinning her in the bright spring sunshine. ""A thousand times, yes.""

Six months later, the great estate on the hill was filled once again with the irresistible aroma of roasted garlic, fresh rosemary, and warm Sicilian bread.

The heavy mahogany doors were unlocked. The front gates stood wide open to the sunlight.

And inside the gleaming marble kitchen, the most feared Don on the Eastern seaboard was standing at the prep counter with his sleeves rolled up, white flour smeared across his jaw, obediently taking a spoonful of simmering sauce from the hand of his radiant, pregnant wife.

""Well?"" Isa asked with a triumphant smirk.