The following morning, Elena woke up earlier than usual. The joy of her family's freedom was still humming inside her like a song, but it was mixed with another feeling she couldn't ignore—suspicion.
The debt had vanished far too suddenly. Men like that didn't just forgive what was owed. They were merciless. Unless… someone powerful had intervened.
Her mind kept circling back to him.
Vincenzo Marino.
Her mysterious CEO.
She shook her head, refusing to believe it, yet deep down, something in her heart whispered that it had to be him.
That morning, instead of rushing straight to the office, she stopped by the small bakery near her apartment. She picked out freshly baked bread, a little container of pasta she had prepared the night before, and even a piece of tiramisu wrapped in neat paper.
By the time she reached the office, she had decided: she needed to thank him, whether or not he was the reason.
---
Inside the tall glass building, whispers started immediately. The other secretaries eyed her curiously as she carried the lunchbox past them. Amara's absence after her firing was still fresh, and many had expected Elena to falter. Instead, she was glowing more than ever.
Elena knocked lightly on the CEO's office door.
"Come in," his deep voice called.
She stepped inside, clutching the small bag. Vincenzo was seated behind his massive desk, his suit jacket discarded, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He looked up at her with that same piercing gaze that always made her knees weaken.
"Elena," he said smoothly. "You're here early."
She smiled nervously, setting the bag on his desk. "I… I brought you something. Lunch. As a thank you."
He arched a brow, clearly amused. "Thank you? For what?"
She swallowed, lowering her gaze. "For… for everything. For giving me this job. For the apartment. For…" she hesitated, then whispered, "for helping my family."
His eyes darkened with intrigue. He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "So you've figured it out."
Her breath caught. "It was you… wasn't it?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he stood, circling the desk until he was directly in front of her. He reached for the lunchbox, his fingers brushing hers deliberately as he took it.
"You made this for me?" His voice dropped low, almost a growl.
Elena nodded, her cheeks warm. "Yes. I thought… it was the least I could do."
He set the lunchbox aside without opening it. Instead, he placed both hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in as he leaned close. Her heart raced, his scent intoxicating.
"Elena," he whispered, his lips hovering near her ear, "I don't want your food."
Her eyes widened. "You… don't?"
"I want you."
Her pulse thundered. She tried to move, but his presence was overwhelming. His eyes burned into hers, filled with desire and certainty.
"Elena Rossi," he said, his voice steady and commanding, "be my girlfriend."
The words sent her entire body into chaos. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She was torn between gratitude, fear, and the undeniable pull she felt toward him.
"Vincenzo…" she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
For the first time in years, the mighty CEO—hidden Don of the Mafia—waited, vulnerable in his own way, for her answer.