At the most expensive charity gala in Minneapolis, Clare Donnelly realized someone had moved her place card on purpose.

The gunshot echoed violently across the frozen lake.

Clare didn't think. She didn't hesitate.

"LEANDRO!" she screamed, throwing herself forward.

Before Wesley could fire a second shot, Marko sprinted out of the darkness like an attack dog, tackling Wesley to the icy ground, disarming him violently and pinning him down while other guards seized a screaming Victoria.

Leandro turned around, his heart stopping as he saw Clare stumbling into his arms.

"Clare! God, Clare!" he panicked, catching her as she collapsed against his chest.

The bullet had grazed his left shoulder, tearing through his jacket, but Leandro didn't care about the blood dripping down his arm. He dropped to his knees in the snow, holding Clare tightly, frantically checking her body.

"Are you hit? Are you hurt?" he roared in pure terror.

Clare looked up at him, her hands trembling as she touched his face, relieved to see he was alive. "I... I'm okay. I thought he shot you..."

Leandro pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck, his entire massive frame shaking with raw emotion. The terrifying thought of losing her had shattered his iron composure completely.

"You brave, foolish, incredible woman," he wept silently against her skin. "You ran toward a gun for me..."

"I love you, Leandro," she whispered softly into the winter night. "I love you so much."

Leandro pulled back, looking into her eyes with absolute, unyielding love.

"I love you, Clare Donnelly," he swore deeply. "More than my life."

Six months later.

The summer sun shone brilliantly over Lake Minnetonka. The gardens of the Vitali estate were filled with fresh white roses, gold ribbons, and hundreds of joyous guests.

Music echoed across the lawn as Clare walked down the white aisle in a stunning lace wedding gown that hugged her voluptuous figure perfectly. She carried a bouquet of orchids, her face radiant with happiness.

At the end of the aisle stood Leandro, looking imposing and impossibly handsome in his white groom's tuxedo. When his ice-blue eye met hers, tears glistened in the sun.

They exchanged vows under a massive floral arch, promising to protect, cherish, and love each other through every storm life brought their way.

When the priest declared them husband and wife, Leandro lifted Clare completely off her feet, pulling her into a passionate, breathtaking kiss that made the entire crowd erupt into roaring applause.

Later that evening, at the grand reception dinner on the lakefront terrace, Clare and Leandro sat together at Table One—the table reserved exclusively for the King and Queen of the evening.

Sloan, now head of estate hospitality, brought over two glasses of vintage champagne.

Leandro took his glass and clinked it gently against Clare’s.

"A toast," Leandro said softly, looking around at their loved ones, then down at his beautiful wife. "To the cruel fools who tried to mock us by seating us together."

Clare laughed, resting her head against his broad, comfortable shoulder, her diamond wedding band sparkling brightly in the twilight.

"It was the best prank they ever pulled," she smiled softly.

Leandro kissed her temple, wrapping his arm securely around her waist.