Page 97 of A Bossy Proposal

“I needed one million dollars to have him killed. My father…”

I blow out a deep breath.

“My father gave me a number to call if something ever happened to him or Mom.” Her voice trembling. “A man who would keep me safe.”

“Why didn’t you call him?”

“I did call him, and he told me he did nothing unless he was paid one million dollars. And I thought I was going to inherit millions. Instead, I lost everything! My inheritance was gone; I couldn’t afford him!” Her eyes glisten with frustration and fear as she runs a hand through her hair.

“So you agreed to be my fiancée for one year to safeguard your future?” I laugh. “You were never planning to buy an apartment?”

She shakes her head. “Living in a safe world was more important to me than the apartment.” She meets my gaze with defiance burning behind those bright blue eyes. “Even if it meant living on the streets again.”

I’m in awe of her. She had everything once, and now she’s got nothing worse yet—a mafia don is searching the world for her. And not once did she grumble about anything at work in the past.

“What’s the name your father gave to you?” I ask, leaning closer.

“Lorenzo Mancini,” she replies, her voice steady despite the weight of the name. “He lives in Boston. I have his number.”

“You do?”

“My father wrote it on the back of one of the photos we retrieved from Felix’s apartment.”

I groan, running a hand through my hair. “That’s why you were so desperate to go back and get them.”

Her gaze is distant. “I always hoped one day…” Her voice trails off.

“What were you hoping for?” I press, wanting to pull her back into this moment with me.

“I could live a normal life,” she says. “I just needed enough money to pay someone to help me. But a million dollars isn’t easy to find.”

“Help you get rid of him?”

“Not only to get rid of Vincenzo for myself,” she murmurs. “But to make him admit what he did. That he killed my parents.”

The reality sinks in. Amelia is not only fighting for survival, but she is also fighting for justice. She wants revenge against a monster who had taken everything from her.

“You know I can keep you safe,” I insist, a fierce protectiveness surging through me.

I study her, searching for cracks in that resolve but finding none. She might be scared, but there’s fire behind those eyes that refuse to be extinguished.

“I know, but I’d prefer him to be killed.”

“Then find that photo.”

“He charges—”

“Get the photo.”

I watch her, the fight draining from her eyes like a slow air coming out of a tire until it’s flat.

She knew Lorenzo Mancini was her last hope—her only hope. I can see it in the way her shoulders sag, the way her breath catches just before she speaks.

“Do you really think he’ll kill him?” Amelia’s voice trembles, uncertainty creeping in.

I pull her close to me. “Your father believed he would.”

She bites her lip, glancing down at her hands as if they hold all the answers to this mess. The strength I admired just moments ago is fading, rapidly being replaced by doubt and fear.

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