I'd worked in the Moretti mansion for seventeen days, which apparently was long enough to forget that most people were disenchanted of Dominic.

Two days passed before the snow finally stopped, leaving the estate wrapped in a blinding, silent blanket of pure white.

The aftermath of the summit had sent shockwaves through the Midwest. With Don Vance dead and his syndicate dismantled, Dominic's authority was absolute. Nobody questioned the Moretti name anymore. The trailers inside the mansion had been purged, and a new, fiercely loyal security detail was established under Raphael's direct supervision.

I sat on the wide window seat in the master bedroom, wrapped in an oversized cashmere sweater that belonged to Dominic, drinking hot chocolate while watching the sun glint off the snow. The small cut on my temple had healed into a faint pink line.

The door opened softly, and Dominic walked in.

He had shed his sharp suits for a simple black sweater and dark trousers. He looked relaxed—a look I had never seen on him in the nineteen days I'd worked here. The heavy, suffocating weight of constant suspicion had finally lifted from his shoulders.

He walked over to the window seat, sitting down beside me, his long legs stretching out across the floor. He reached out, gently took the hot chocolate mug from my hands and set it on the side table before pulling my hands into his.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his dark eyes searching my face.

"I'm fine, Dominic," I smiled. "Dr. Ferraro checked me this morning. No concussion. Just a minor headache."

"Good," he murmured, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over my knuckles.

He was quiet for a moment, looking out at the snowy gardens below. For a man who could command armies of armed men with a whisper, he looked almost nervous.

"Dominic?" I asked, tilting my head. "What is it?"

He looked back at me, his expression turning serious, filled with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

"When I walked down that hallway two nights ago and saw Julian holding a gun to your chest," Dominic began, his voice rough with emotion, "my heart stopped. I've faced firing squads, blood battles, and betrayals that should have put me in the ground ten times over. But I have never known true terror until that moment."

"Dominic—"

"Let me finish," he interrupted gently, raising my hand to press a soft kiss against my palm. "My entire life, I believed that feeling nothing was the only way to survive. I thought pain was a weakness, and love was a liability that got men killed in this business."

He looked directly into my eyes, his obsidian gaze burning with absolute sincerity.

"Then a reckless, stubborn maid walked into my room, called me out on my lies, saved my life with a glass of water, and smashed an assassin with a silver candlestick."

A soft laugh escaped my lips, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

"You taught me how to feel again, Lucy," Dominic whispered, pulling me closer until our foreheads rested against each other. "You gave me something worth living for. Worth fighting for."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He didn't pop it open like a traditional proposal; instead, he opened it gently to reveal a stunning ring—a deep, fiery red ruby set in an intricate band of platinum and tiny diamonds.

"This belongs to my grandmother," Dominic said softly. "The only woman in my family who married for love, not power. I vow I will only give it to a woman who saw the man behind the monster."

He looked at me, his breathing shallow. "I don't want you as my maid, Lucy. I don't want you cleaning my sheets or serving my coffee. I want you by my side. As my wife. As the queen of this empire."

I stared at the ring, then looked up into the dark, beautiful eyes of the man who had stolen my heart in the middle of a warzone.

"On one condition," I whispered, a tear finally slipped down my cheek.

Dominic raised an eyebrow, a faint, familiar smile touching his lips. "Name it."