The Paralyzed Mafia Boss Thought She Was Just Another Caregiver—Then Her Next Move Left Him Speechless

For twelve hours, Sadi paced the luxurious confines of the east guest suite. The balcony doors were bolted shut; guards stood outside the locked double doors.

She didn't sleep. She didn't eat the food brought to her.

At two in the morning, the lock clicked.

Desmond rolled into the room alone.

He looked terrible. His shirt was unbuttoned, his dark hair disheveled, deep purple hollows under his eyes. He smelled of smoke and unyielding exhaustion.

He closed the door behind him and locked it from the inside.

Sadi stood by the window, her arms crossed, watching him with cold defiance. “Come to finish the job?”

Desmond didn't answer right away. He rolled his chair to the center of the room, stopping a few feet from where she stood.

“I had Frankie trace the digital footprint of the offshore wire,” he said quietly, his voice raspy. “The IP address routing the funds originated from inside this house. Three days ago. While you were with me at the gala.”

Sadi’s breath hitched. “What?”

“You couldn't have authorized the transfer,” Desmond continued, his gaze lifting to hers, stripped entirely of anger, filled with a raw, bleeding remorse. “You were in my arms on that balcony when the transfer went through. It was Lorenzo’s remaining mole inside the security team. Frankie found him an hour ago trying to slip through the perimeter.”

Sadi closed her eyes, releasing a shuddering breath. Relief washed through her, followed immediately by an ache of lingering pain.

“So I’m innocent,” she whispered.

“You were never guilty,” Desmond said.

He reached out, his hand trembling as he reached for hers.

Sadi stepped back, avoiding his touch.

Desmond flinched as if struck.

“Why did you doubt me, Desmond?” she asked, her voice breaking. “After everything. Why was your first instinct to believe I was a monster?”

Desmond lowered his head. When he spoke, the words were stripped of all mob-boss bravado, revealing the wounded, scarred man beneath the empire.

“Because I couldn't understand why someone like you would ever look at someone like me,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. “I am a killer, Sadi. I am a cripple who cannot even stand on his own two feet to protect you. Every day I look in the mirror and I see half a man. When the evidence appeared, my poisoned mind told me it made sense. Why would an angel stay in hell unless she was paid to be here?”

Tears welled in Sadi’s eyes.

She looked at him—this terrifying titan of the criminal underworld, stripped entirely bare, weeping before her from the depths of his own perceived worthlessness.

Her anger shattered.

She crossed the room in two strides, dropped to her knees in front of his chair, and took his trembling hands into hers.

“You idiot,” she sobbed softly, pressing her forehead against his knees. “You complete idiot. I don't care about your legs. I don't care about your empire. I fell in love with the man who refused to break. I fell in love with *you*.”

Desmond froze.

The words echoed in the room like church bells.

*I fell in love with you.*

With a strangled cry, Desmond reached down, wrapping his powerful arms around her, hauling her up into his lap, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His shoulders shook as he held her with a desperate, crushing intensity, kissing her neck, her jaw, her tear-stained cheeks.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded against her skin. “Forgive me, my love. I will spend the rest of my life making it right.”

“Just don't push me away again,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him. “Never again.”