THE MAFIA BOSS OPENED THE WRONG DOOR—AND SAW THE ONE WOMAN HE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO WANT

applying pressure, reminding myself again and again that this was clinical.

Professional.

Necessary.

But nothing about the air in that room felt simple.

When I pressed near the scar, he made a sound caught somewhere between pain and relief.

We both froze.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Did it hurt?”

“No,” he said, voice rough. “Keep going.”

So I did.

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