Chapter 5 - Sadie's Protector
The scent of lavender and antiseptic woke me.
I opened my eyes to find myself in Ryan’s master bedroom. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the warm air. My torn, bloodstained gown had been replaced with an oversized, incredibly soft gray cashmere sweater that clearly belonged to Ryan.
A white bandage was neatly taped over the scrapes on my knees and forearm.
The door clicked open, and Ryan walked in carrying a silver tray. He was dressed in a casual black Henley shirt, his hair still slightly damp from a shower. The domestic sight of this terrifying mafia kingpin carrying a breakfast tray was so surreal I almost pinched myself.
“You’re awake,” he said quietly, placing the tray on the nightstand. On it was a cup of hot chamomile tea, fresh fruit, and warm croissants.
“How long was I out?” I croaked, trying to sit up. A dull ache resonated through my muscles.
“Twelve hours,” Ryan answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes scanned my face, searching for signs of fever or pain. “The doctor checked you. No concussions. Just exhaustion and minor bruising.”
“And the shooters?”
“Antonio Moretti made a fatal miscalculation,” Ryan said, his expression hardening into stone for a split second before softening again. “His dock operations were seized before sunrise. He is in hiding. He will not be a threat for much longer.”
I took a sip of the warm tea, letting the heat soothe my raw throat. “Ryan... last night... thank you for shielding me.”
“You threw a rusted crowbar at an assassin to save my life, Diane,” Ryan said, his voice dropping into that deep, magnetic register that made my stomach flutter. “In my world, loyalty like that doesn't exist. People only stay until the money runs out or the guns come out. You stayed.”
He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently wrapping around mine. For the first time, there were no cameras. No rival syndicates watching. Just him and me.
“I called the Hamptons,” he added, his thumb tracing the back of my hand. “Sadie woke up two hours ago. She wants to see you.”
Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. “Can we go? Please?”
“Get dressed,” Ryan smiled—a genuine, warm smile that transformed his intimidating face into something breathtakingly handsome. “The helicopter is waiting on the roof.”
Two hours later, we landed on the manicured lawn of a sprawling oceanfront estate in the Hamptons.
The moment I stepped off the helipad, a tiny figure in a bright yellow sundress came sprinting across the grass.
“DIANE!”
“Sadie!” I dropped to my knees, opening my arms wide.
Sadie collided with me, wrapping her arms around my neck in a fierce, breathless hug. I held her so tightly I thought our ribs might crack, kissing the top of her head over and over again.
When she finally pulled back, she beamed at me.
My breath hitched.
The severe overlap, the jagged, broken teeth that had caused her so much pain and made cruel children call her names—they were gone. In their place were neat, temporary porcelain veneers, perfectly straight and glowing white, awaiting her permanent braces next month.
“Look, Diane! Look!” Sadie giggled, showing off her brand-new smile with absolute, unadulterated joy. “The doctor said I look like a movie star! He said nobody can ever call me a rabbit again!”
Sobbing, I pressed my forehead against hers. “You look beautiful, Sadie. You are the most beautiful girl in the world.”
“Ryan did it!” Sadie turned, running straight past me toward the tall man walking slowly across the lawn.
To my absolute astonishment, Ryan Greer—the man who had executed two assassins twelve hours ago—knelt down with open arms. Sadie leaped directly into him, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.
Ryan caught her effortlessly, swinging her up into the air with a soft laugh that sounded completely foreign yet utterly natural on his lips.
“Thank you, Ryan!” Sadie squealed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome, little queen,” Ryan said softly, his voice full of an affectionate warmth he had never shown to another living soul. “Nobody will ever make you cry again. I promise.”
I stood up, wiping the tears from my cheeks, watching the two of them.
Sadie began chattering endlessly about the horses she had seen on the neighboring property, tugging Ryan by the hand toward the stables. And Ryan—ruthless, feared, untouchable Ryan Greer—allowed a ten-year-old girl to drag him across the lawn, listening to her every word as if it were the most critical intelligence briefing on earth.
Later that afternoon, after Sadie had fallen asleep in the sunroom exhausted from playing, Ryan and I walked along the private, windswept beach. The ocean waves crashed against the shore in rhythmic, foaming crescendos.
“You’re amazing with her,” I said quietly, the salty wind whipping my hair across my face.
Ryan kept his gaze on the horizon. “My younger brother, Leo, was eight when our father’s rivals bombed our car. I was fourteen. I survived. Leo didn't.”
The words struck my heart like a physical blow. The coldness, the obsession with security, the impenetrable walls around his heart—it all made tragic, heartbreaking sense.
“Ryan... I’m so sorry,” I whispered, stepping in front of him, stopping him on the sand.
He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a lifetime of buried grief and solitary burden. “I spent fifteen years building an empire so strong, so terrifying, that nobody could ever take someone I loved away from me again. But in doing so, I became a ghost. Living in a glass tower, surrounded by killers.”
He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as his fingers cupped my jaw.
“And then you kissed me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. “A desperate, furious, beautiful girl who was willing to walk into hell for her sister. You brought life back into my world, Diane.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Ryan... the contract. Rule number one. Don't fall in love.”
“To hell with the contract,” Ryan growled softly.
He pulled me into him, burying his hands in my hair, and brought his mouth down on mine.
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This kiss had no audience. There was no vengeance against the Voss family, no show of power for the underworld. It was raw, desperate, and filled with an aching tenderness that consumed every defense I had left. I wrapped my arms around his neck, standing on my tiptoes, surrendering completely to the terrifying, magnificent realization that I was irrevocably, hopelessly falling in love with the mafia kingpin.
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