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

tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

And that was how the routine began.

Mornings, I was the housekeeper.

Afternoons, I was the physical therapist.

Hands on his back.

Pressure on his scars.

Healing what I could.

At night, we avoided each other and pretended not to think about the sessions.

But the more days passed, the less we pretended well.

We talked.

At first about practical continue reading …