# SHE TOOK A BULLET FOR THE MAFIA BOSS’S TWINS — THEN HE REALIZED THE WOMAN HE HIRED WAS SENT TO SAVE HIS SOUL

The emergency medical wing beneath the Calveti estate was state-of-the-art, built for mob wars. But as the underground surgeon operated on Clara for six agonizing hours, Julian sat on the floor outside the door, covered in her blood, completely broken.

Toby and Bella sat on either side of him. He had pulled them into his lap, hugging them tight. He cried. The Devil of Chicago wept into his children's hair, praying to a God he hadn't spoken to in twenty years.

If she lives, he bargained with the universe, I will walk away. I will end the violence. Just let her live.

When the surgeon finally emerged, he looked exhausted. "The bullet missed her spine by a millimeter. We stopped the bleeding. She's in a coma, Mr. Calveti. Now, we wait."

Julian spent five days by her bedside. He didn't eat. He barely slept. He held her pale, cold hand, whispering stories about the twins, about his past, about how he was going to dismantle the illegal arms of his syndicate.

He realized then that Dante was right. Clara was his heart. She had walked into a house of death and brought life, light, and stubborn, unyielding love. She had saved his children, but more than that, she had saved his soul.

On the sixth day, Julian was resting his head on the edge of her bed, his eyes closed.

He felt a weak, trembling hand brush through his hair.

Julian’s head snapped up.

Clara was looking at him, her eyes heavy, a weak smile on her pale lips. "You look terrible," she rasped, her throat dry.

Julian let out a choked sob, pressing his face into her neck, his broad shoulders shaking. "I love you," he wept, repeating it like a mantra. "I love you. I love you."