No Woman Would Marry Chicago’s Infertile Crime Boss Until a Desperate Single Mother Offered Him the One Thing His Enemies Could Never Understand

BANG!

The deafening shot shattered the small office window.

Leo Rossetti gasped, his eyes widening in utter disbelief as he stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder where the bullet had hit him. He dropped his gun, collapsing onto the corrugated metal floor, groaning in agony.

Emma didn't hesitate. She finished cutting the plastic ties around Noah’s wrists, scooped her trembling son into her arms, and held him tightly against her chest, stepping over Leo’s bleeding form as she sprinted out of the office onto the gantry.

Down on the main warehouse floor, the gunfire had ceased.

The remaining Rossetti enforcers lay disarmed or dead. Standing in the center of the concrete floor beneath the harsh halogen spotlights was Vincent. His tactical vest was stained with mud and blood, his rifle lowered, his face an terrifying portrait of absolute vengeance.

Beside him, pinned against a shipping container with a knife through his shoulder, was Salvatore Rossetti himself. The old mob boss was wheezing, blood trickling from his mouth, his arrogance entirely gone.

Hearing the gunshot from the gantry, Vincent spun around, his heart stopping as he looked up.

He saw Emma standing at the metal railing, rain pouring through the shattered skylights above her, holding Noah tightly in her arms. Both of them were unhurt.

A massive wave of relief washed over Vincent’s face, followed immediately by absolute, murderous rage as he realized how close he had come to losing them.

“Emma!” Vincent called out, his voice echoing through the vast space.

“We’re okay! We’re okay, Vincent!” Emma shouted down, her tears finally overflowing.

Vincent turned back to Salvatore Rossetti. The old man looked up at Vincent, his eyes filled with terror.

“Vincent… please…” Rossetti gasped. “It was a mistake… we can make a deal… the terminals are yours…”

Vincent walked up to Rossetti. He didn't raise a voice. He didn't yell. He leaned in close, his voice cold enough to freeze blood.

“You touched my family, Salvatore,” Vincent whispered. “There are no deals for that.”

Vincent drew his sidearm. A single muffled shot echoed through the warehouse.

Salvatore Rossetti slumped forward, dead. The reign of the Rossetti family on the West Side was officially over.

Ten minutes later, the warehouse was being cleared by Calder’s clean-up crews.

Emma sat in the back of the medical transport van, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, holding Noah on her lap. The paramedics had checked Noah over—aside from a few tiny scrapes and sheer terror, the boy was completely unharmed. He had cried himself to exhaustion and was now fast asleep in Emma’s arms, holding his dinosaur plushie.

The doors of the transport opened, and Vincent stepped inside.

He looked battered, splattered with rain and blood, but as he looked at Emma and Noah, his dark eyes were completely filled with raw, unadulterated emotion.

He dropped to his knees on the floor of the van in front of Emma.

“He’s safe,” Emma whispered, stroking Noah’s hair. “You saved him.”

“You saved him, Emma,” Vincent said, his voice cracking slightly—a sound she had never heard from him before. He reached out, his thick, trembling hands gently touching Noah’s face, then moving up to cup Emma’s cheek. “You shot Leo Rossetti.”

“He was going to hurt our son,” Emma said simply.

Our son.

The word hung in the air, heavy and profound.

Vincent looked at Emma. The cold, impenetrable fortress he had built around his heart for fourteen years completely crumbled. He didn't care about the Meridian Council. He didn't care about shipping lanes or syndicate wars.

All he cared about was the incredible, fierce woman sitting in front of him.

Vincent pulled Emma toward him, wrapping his massive arms around both her and Noah, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Emma held him back tightly, feeling the violent tremors running through his powerful body.