The cold steel of Rocco Marchetti’s Beretta pressed hard against Arya Vance’s left temple, but her pulse remained remarkably slow.

Upon their return to the cliffside villa on the Amalfi Coast, there was still one final piece of business to settle.

The afternoon sun was blazing over the blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea as Rocco sat behind his massive mahogany desk in the grand study. Bruno stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

Sitting in a chair across from the desk was Vanessa. Her bags were packed and waiting in the driveway. Her face was hollow, her expensive designer clothes looking wrinkled and pathetic.

"Rocco," Vanessa wept, clutching a lace handkerchief. "Please! I didn't know Miller was working for Vance! I swear I had nothing to do with the poison! I just wanted you to love me!"

Rocco smoked a cigar slowly, watching the blue smoke drift toward the high ceiling.

"You knew Miller was giving Leo unprescribed supplements," Rocco said, his voice flat and void of all emotion. "You stayed silent because you wanted Leo out of the way so you could have my undivided attention and my fortune."

"No! That's not true!" she wailed.

"It doesn't matter," Rocco said, tapping the ash from his cigar into a silver tray. "You were cruel to the staff. You were cruel to my son. And you brought snake oil into my fortress."

He looked at Bruno.

"Vanessa's family business in Naples has been completely bought out by Marchetti Logistics," Rocco said calmly. "Her father’s agricultural firm is liquidated. She has thirty minutes to take her personal clothing and get on a public ferry to Sicily. If she ever steps foot on the Amalfi Coast again..."

Rocco didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

Vanessa sobbed hysterically, realizing that her dreams of wealth and power had dissolved into absolute ruin. Bruno stepped forward, grabbed her arm firmly, and escorted her out of the study, locking the heavy mahogany doors behind them.

The room fell quiet.

A side door opened. Arya walked into the study, wearing a simple, gorgeous sun-dress of white yellow cotton, carrying a tray with two fresh lemonades.

She set the tray on his desk, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him.

"Is she gone?" Arya asked softly.

"She’s gone," Rocco replied, reaching over to take her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "The villa is finally clean."

"It was always clean, Rocco," Arya smiled gently. "Some of us just had to scrub a little harder to clear away the grease."

Rocco laughed—a warm, rich sound that filled the grand room with genuine light. He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a velvet box, and slid it across the mahogany surface toward her.

Arya looked at the box, then up at him. "Rocco... what is this?"

"Open it," he murmured.

Arya opened the lid. Inside lay a breathtaking platinum ring holding a flawless, six-carat canary-yellow diamond, sparkling like the Amalfi sun.

"You gave me my son back," Rocco said, his dark eyes filled with a raw, powerful emotion that he had never shown to another soul on earth. "You gave this house a soul. And you gave me a reason to believe that a man like me can be saved."

He took the ring from the box, looking into her eyes with absolute, unyielding devotion.

"Arya Vance," Rocco whispered. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, my partner, and the mother of my children?"

Arya looked at the magnificent ring, then at little Leo, who was sleeping peacefully in his stroller near the sunny window, and finally at Rocco—the dangerous, formidable crime boss who had turned into her fierce protector, her equal, and her true love.