A damp rag dragged across the laminate counter, carrying the smell of stale coffee and exhausted dreams.

In a fraction of a second, the romantic atmosphere shattered into absolute chaos.

Before the first glass shard touched the floor, Roman moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed Mave around the waist, yanked her off her feet, and threw his body over hers as a hail of bullets tore through the salon, shredding the velvet sofa and shattering artwork on the walls.

Mave gasped for air, pressed face-down into the plush carpet beneath the crushing weight of Roman's body. The deafening roar of gunfire roared in her ears, accompanied by the smell of cordite and copper.

"Stay down!" Roman roared into her ear.

He pulled a dark, heavy handgun from a shoulder holster beneath his velvet jacket. Without rising, he rolled off her, fired three rapid shots through the shattered window, and killed an attacker charging across the terrace.

More guards rushed into the salon, returning fire with submachine guns, creating a wall of lead that pushed the attackers back toward the courtyard gates.

Roman reached down, grabbed Mave by her wrist, and pulled her to her feet, keeping her behind his broad frame as he backed toward a heavy oak door in the corner of the room.

"Marco!" Roman barked into a small radio clipped to his collar. "Secure the perimeter! Vane sent a hit squad!"

"We're pushing them back, boss!" Marco's voice crackled through the speaker amidst the sound of gunfire. "They brought twenty guys!"

Roman shoved open the oak door, revealing a reinforced panic room lined with security monitors and weapons racks. He practically threw Mave inside, stepping in after her and slamming the heavy steel door shut, locking it with an electronic keycard.

The deafening roar of the battle outside instantly muffled down to a dull, distant thud.

Mave stood in the center of the brightly lit panic room, her chest heaving, her hands trembling violently. Her emerald silk dress was stained with dust and a smudge of dark blood near the hem—not hers, but the guard's.

She looked at Roman. He stood near the door, his handgun raised, his breath coming in slow, controlled measures. He had a small cut along his jawline from flying glass, a thin bead of crimson trickling down his neck.

"Are you hit?" Roman demanded, rushing to her side, his hands quickly scanning her arms, waist, and legs for injuries. "Mave! Answer me! Are you hurt?"

"I... I'm okay," Mave stammered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "I'm not shot. But you... you're bleeding."

Roman ignored his own jaw, letting out a long, ragged exhale of relief as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "Thank God," he breathed into her hair. "Thank God."

Mave leaned against him, her mind spinning out of control. The violence, the blood, the sheer terrifying reality of who Roman Costa was had just smashed through her fantasy world like a freight train.

She pulled back from his chest, looking up into his blood-splattered face.

"This is your life," she whispered, realization crashing over her like icy water. "This is what you do. People shoot at you in your own home."

Roman's hard expression tightened, a deep shadow of regret passing over his slate-gray eyes. "Julian Vane is a desperate animal. He knew I was stripping his family of their territory, so he made a suicidal play."

"He came here because of me!" Mave realized, her eyes widening in horror. "He saw you protect me on Fourth Street. He knew I was here tonight! If I hadn't taken this job, if I hadn't worn this dress—"

"No," Roman interrupted firmly, taking her face in his hands. "Do not do that, Mave. Do not take responsibility for the actions of violent men. Julian Vane attacked me because I am destroying his empire. You are not a weakness, Mave. You are the only good thing that has happened to me in five years."

"Roman, people almost died out there!" Mave shouted, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "I'm a waitress from a diner! I don't belong in a world where automatic rifles shatter the windows while we're having dinner! I can't do this!"

Roman held her gaze, his expression solemn, dark, and filled with a painful honesty.

"You're right," Roman said softly. "You don't belong in this world. You deserve peace, safety, and a quiet life. And if you want to walk away right now, if you want me to transfer the diner entirely into your name and never see my face again... I will do it."

Mave froze, staring at him. "You would just let me go?"

"I love you, Mave," Roman said simply, the words dropping into the quiet room like lead weights.

Mave's heart stopped.

"I loved you the moment you told me to drink my coffee and walk out of that diner," Roman continued, his voice thick with emotion. "I loved you because you didn't fear me, and you didn't want my money. So if staying with me puts a target on your back, I will step away. I will protect you from a distance, and I will never force you into my darkness."

He stepped back, giving her space, putting his gun away on a table.

Mave stood in the panic room, looking at this terrifying, powerful mob boss who had the entire city in his palm, yet stood humbled and completely vulnerable before a size-16 waitress.

She looked at her shaking hands. She looked at the blood on her dress.

Every rational voice in her head screamed at her to take his offer, to take the diner, run as far away from the Costa syndicate as possible, and live a safe, quiet life.

But as she looked into Roman's gray eyes—eyes that held so much pain, so much loneliness, and an absolute devotion to her—she knew her quiet, safe life had ended the moment she wiped down booth four.

She didn't want a safe life anymore. She wanted him.

Mave walked across the room, stopped in front of Roman, and grabbed the front of his blood-stained shirt.