—Did you really think I wouldn’t find you, Emma?”
His voice was ice, but his words sent a tremor of raw terror through her.
—Let me go!!!
Three weeks.
Three weeks since she danced alone in the furious Manhattan storm, a moment of reckless, pure freedom.
Three weeks since she fled the Duca mansion without looking back. She had been seen.
The Audition in the Storm
Emma Parker, 24, was drowning in the sheer exhaustion of survival. With three grueling jobs—waitress, office cleaner, and hotel maid—her life was a relentless cycle of poverty and bills. One midnight Friday, caught in a furious New York storm, her bus was canceled. Drenched and desperate, something snapped.
She stopped in the middle of an empty street, closed her eyes, and let the torrential rain wash over her. For the first time in years, she felt free. She threw open her arms and danced, a wild, instinctive moment of pure, unguarded joy. She was not Emma Parker, the poor girl; she was just Me, laughing at the storm.
She didn’t know that just meters away, in the shadows of a luxury building, Marco Duca, the mafia boss, had stopped entering his limousine to watch her.
—I didn’t know my life was about to change forever.
Monday came too fast. Emma was called by her boss, Carol, to make a “special delivery” for a VIP client who had specifically requested someone who knew the menu.
The pay: $500, enough to cover her overdue rent. The address led her to Manhattan’s wealthiest district and a sprawling, guarded mansion.
She was directed to the kitchen, but when she entered, he was there. Marco Duca. Tall, tailored, his unbuttoned white shirt revealing climbing tattoos, and eyes that were gray, searching storms.
—You, he said.
—I brought your order, sir. My hands trembled.
—Do you dance in the rain often? My blood froze. What? Friday night, 52nd in Madison. You danced in the storm. Why?
He was inches from her now. He had seen her. That one private, stolen moment.
—And since then, I can’t get you out of my head.
Before she could process the danger, he took her chin, his grip firm.
—Marco Duca, and you, Bella, just became mine. You’re going to work for me now, as my personal assistant. $15,000 a month.
When Emma thought of the money, of escaping the endless grind, the word that came out of her mouth was, “Yes.”
The Price of Comfort
Emma’s first week in the Duca mansion was a surreal blur of luxury—a massive room, designer clothes, and expensive food. But the true price was Marco. He was omnipresent, his gray eyes constantly watching her.
—You’re avoiding me, Emma.
—To you, she admitted in the winter garden. You terrify me.
—Good. You should be scared. Do you know what I do, Emma? I control this city. Everything that moves, everything that breathes. People fear me. They should.
—Then why me? Why a nobody like me?
—Never call yourself a nobody again! You were a woman who danced in the rain like she had nothing to lose. Who smiled through the storm like it was freedom itself. Do you know how rare that is? I’ve lived 32 years in darkness, Emma. Blood, violence, betrayal. And then I saw you dancing and for 5 minutes, I forgot what I was.
—I want you to stay, he said, his voice almost vulnerable. Not because I pay you, because you choose to.
The moment shattered when his phone rang. He became the mafia boss again in a heartbeat.
—Stay in your room tonight. Don’t come out no matter what you hear.
—Fear keeps you alive in my world.
At 2 a.m., gunshots echoed through the mansion. Emma crept out and found Marco in his shattered office, blood dripping from his forehead, a dead body on the floor.
—I told you to stay in your room! This is my world, Emma. This is what I am. Death, violence, darkness.
—I should leave!
—No! You leave, you die. My enemies know about you now. The only place you’re safe is by my side.
Marco pulled her against his chest. Wrapped in his arms, surrounded by death, she felt something terrifying and undeniable: protected.
She was falling for the most dangerous man alive.
The Claim of the Heart
The next two weeks were a blur of tension and unspoken desire. Marco assigned four bodyguards to her; she was not allowed to leave the mansion without an entire detail. She realized the danger was horrifyingly real after seeing bullet holes in one of the SUVs.
Marco needed her to attend a gala—a major event for all the families—to send a message: she was his, and untouchable.
—I need you to understand something. Tomorrow night will be dangerous. These people, they’re predators, sharks, and they’ll be watching you, looking for weakness to use against you.
—I’m not leaving you. If you’re in danger, I’m not running.
—You’re killing me. His voice was rough. Every day you’re here… you’re destroying every wall I’ve built.
—Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
—It’s the most dangerous thing that’s ever happened to me, because now I have something to lose.
—Then why don’t you? she asked, wanting him to kiss her.
—Cuz once I start, I won’t be able to stop. And you deserve better.
She didn’t think, she just rose on her toes and kissed him. He responded with an intensity that burned away all reason.
—You’re mine, Emma Parker. Do you understand? Mine to protect, mine to cherish. Mine.
—And you’re mine, she whispered back.
The gala was a glittering trap. Marco and Emma descended the staircase, drawing every eye. Santino Reichi, head of a rival family, approached them.
—Tell me, Miss Parker, how does a waitress from Murphy’s Diner end up on Marco Duca’s arm?
—Careful. Marco’s voice was lethal. You’re speaking to someone under my protection.
Moments later, gunshots erupted. The ballroom descended into chaos. Marco shoved Emma behind a marble column, his gun appearing instantly. He stepped into the line of fire, returning shots with deadly precision.
—Now, Emma, run!
But she couldn’t. She saw him kill a man who was rushing toward her. When they sped away in the SUV, Marco’s white shirt stained with blood.
—That attack, that was because of you. Santino is trying to get to me through you.
—I’m not leaving you. I’m not running. At least if I die, it’ll be next to someone I… I stopped, but the words hung in the air. Someone I love.
—I love you, he breathed, and kissed her with desperation.
The Final Reckoning
The war started the next morning. Santino declared open war, hitting all of Marco’s businesses. Marco brought his men to the warehouse district for the final reckoning.
—I’ll be your reason to come back alive, Emma insisted, refusing to stay behind.
Marco finally allowed her to ride in his bulletproof SUV. She watched from the tinted window as Marco walked into no man’s land to meet Santino. The moment descended into a massive gunfight.
Marco dropped behind a car, then stood, exchanging fire. The battle ended not with a bullet, but with a surprising handshake.
—Santino was never the problem. He was being pressured by the Colombians. I offered him a better deal. We both profit.
—You’re insane.
—Completely, he grinned. And you love me anyway?
—Unfortunately, yes.
As they drove away, Marco pulled out a small black box.
—Emma Parker. He opened it to reveal a massive ring. I’m a criminal, a killer, a man drowning in darkness. But you, you’re my light, my salvation. Will you marry me?
—This is crazy. We’ve known each other for 3 weeks.
—Best 3 weeks of my life. Your world is dangerous. Which is why I need you in it.
—Yes, she whispered.
He slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her like she was his entire world.
Three years later, Emma Duca stood on the balcony of their Manhattan penthouse. Marco wrapped his arms around her, a protective, possessive embrace.
—Just remembering the rain dance, she smiled.
—The moment I saw you spin with your arms open, laughing at the storm, I knew you were either my salvation or my destruction. You became my heart, Emma Duca.
—I love you, too.
From inside, they heard crying—their six-month-old daughter, Isabella. Marco’s expression instantly softened. The deadly mafia boss transformed into a doting father. Emma, married to the most powerful man in New York, realized she had not run from her life, but danced right into it.
