Grease was the first thing I remember about that night. Not rain. Not headlights. Not the old man’s trembling hands wrapped around a black leather loafer

The collision sent Marcone’s henchmen scrambling in terror.

The door of the armored truck flew open, and Julian stepped out like an dark angel of death. He didn't say a word. He raised his weapon and fired three rapid shots, neutralizing the henchmen before they could even draw their arms.

Marcone, bleeding from his forehead from the crash, scrambled backward on the dirt, pointing his gun wildly at Julian.

"Rossi!" Marcone screamed in panic. "Stay back or I'll—"

Julian didn't even pause. He walked up to Marcone, kicked the gun out of his hand with a brutal snap, grabbed Marcone by his lapels, and lifted him off the ground over the edge of the rocky cliff.

"You targeted my father," Julian said, his voice ice-cold, vibrating with absolute fury. "You targeted the woman I love."

Marcone whimpered, dangling over the violent, churning waves far below. "Julian... please... family business! We can make a deal!"

"The deal is closed," Julian whispered.

He released his grip. Marcone’s scream was swallowed instantly by the roar of the lake waves below.

Julian turned around. He dropped his weapon, sprinting toward us. He pulled both me and Arthur into a fierce, suffocating embrace, holding us close to his beating heart.

"Are you hurt?" Julian breathed into my hair, his hands trembling as he checked my face. "Did he touch you?"

"I'm fine," I sobbed happily, burying my face in his neck. "We're okay, Julian. We're okay."

Arthur patted Julian’s back, chuckling softly. "Good shot, son. Your mother would be proud."

Julian pulled back, looking at his father with wide, emotional eyes. "Dad... you remember?"

Arthur smiled gently, wiping a tear from my cheek. "I remember that this girl belongs in our family."

One year later.

The grand cathedral in downtown Chicago was filled with white roses, glowing candles, and hundreds of guests dressed in high-end formal wear.

I stood behind the double mahogany doors in a stunning silk gown, holding a bouquet of fresh white roses. My art was now showcased in galleries across New York and Chicago, but my heart remained here.

The doors swung open.

At the end of the long aisle stood Julian Rossi. He was dressed in a flawless black tuxedo, looking impeccably handsome, his eyes locked onto mine with a burning devotion that made my soul sing.

Standing beside him as his best man was Arthur, dressed sharply, wearing two shoes, smiling proudly with tears in his eyes.

I took a deep breath and began walking down the aisle toward the man who had pulled me out of my small, miserable life and given me an empire of love.

As I reached the altar, Julian took my hand, leaning down to whisper softly into my ear.