She Told the Mafia Boss Not to Touch Her If He Was Ashamed, and His Answer Silenced Every Person in the Room

The sun had barely dipped below the Chicago skyline when a black SUV pulled up curbside outside Emma’s apartment building.

Before Emma could even slide her key into the front door lock, a heavy hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around.

Vincent stood there in the dim hallway of her apartment building, breathing hard, his overcoat half-unbuttoned, his tie pulled loose. His dark eyes were wide, dilated with a mixture of raw panic and unbridled fury.

"What did my aunt say to you?" Vincent demanded, his voice cracking slightly around the edges.

Emma blinked, stepping back against the wooden door. "How did you—"

"I have people watching you, Emma!" Vincent interrupted, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "I found out she went to the salon. I tracked her car. Tell me what she said."

Emma looked up at him, seeing the genuine terror hidden behind his tough-guy facade. He wasn't afraid of his enemies. He was afraid of losing her.

"She offered me fifty thousand dollars to pack my bags and leave Chicago," Emma said softly, watching his reaction.

Vincent went completely still.

The air in the hallway seemed to vanish. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. When he spoke, his voice dropped into a terrifying, lethal register that Emma had never heard before.

"I'm going to end her," Vincent whispered.

"Vincent, no!" Emma grabbed his coat sleeves, pulling him back from the brink. "Don't tear your family apart over this. I didn't take her money. I told her no."

Vincent looked down at her hands gripping his coat. Slowly, his massive hands came up, covering hers, holding them against his chest where his heart hammered like a trapped bird.

"You don't understand, Emma," Vincent murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You think this is a game. You think you're just a temporary distraction. But you're not. From the second you laughed at my haircut in that stupid salon, you became the only thing keeping me anchored to humanity."

Emma felt a lump form in her throat. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "Vincent..."

"I love you," he blurted out, the words tearing out of him as if he couldn't hold them back another second.

The hallway fell dead silent. The flickering fluorescent light above them buzzed softly.

Emma stared at him, her breath hitching. "You... what?"

"I love you," Vincent repeated, his voice dropping to a raw, honest whisper, his dark eyes searching her face as if begging her not to reject him. "I know it’s insane. I know it’s dangerous. But I love you, Emma. And I am done hiding it."

Before Emma could answer, the heavy front door of the apartment building banged open.

Footsteps echoed up the concrete stairs—heavy, rushed, and far too numerous to belong to neighbors.

Vincent’s head snapped toward the stairwell. In a fraction of a second, the vulnerable man vanished, replaced instantly by the ruthless mafia boss. He pulled Emma behind him, his hand instantly darting inside his jacket, wrapping around the cold steel of a pistol.