The first time I saw my fiancée raise her hand toward my seven-year-old daughter, I was on my knees in the dirt pretending to be a gardener. Nobody at the charity brunch knew the quiet man trimming roses was Evan Whitaker—the mafia boss who owned half the fear in Connecticut—and nobody knew I had come home early to find out why my children had started flinching whenever my name was mentioned.

I walked down the grand staircase into the kitchen at seven in the morning, expecting to find the usual rigid, cold atmosphere. Instead, I was greeted by the smell of fresh pancakes, sizzling bacon, and the sound of laughter.

Grace was standing at the stove, wearing a simple denim apron over a cream sweater. Sophie was sitting on the island counter, happily spreading strawberry jam on a slice of toast, while Caleb sat in a high chair, feeding small pieces of pancake to his stuffed rabbit.

I stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. For two years, this kitchen had been a silent, sterile place. Now, it felt like a home.

Grace turned around, holding a spatula. She startled slightly when she saw me standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Whitaker," she said, quickly adjusting her apron. "I... I hope it's okay that I cooked. The official kitchen staff hadn't arrived yet, and the kids said they were hungry."

"Daddy, look!" Caleb cheered, pointing his maple-syrup-covered finger at his plate. "Grace made bunny-shaped pancakes!"

A soft, rare smile touched my lips. "I see that, buddy."

I walked over to the island, pulling out a stool next to Sophie. I looked at Grace, whose face flushed slightly as she set a fresh cup of black coffee down in front of me.

"Marcus told me he spoke to you this morning about the new position," I said, taking a sip of the coffee.

Grace paused, wiping her hands on a cloth. "He did. Mr. Whitaker, the offer is ridiculously generous... but I don't think it's a good idea."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because of who you are," Grace said honestly, looking straight into my eyes without fear. "Your life is dangerous. The people around you are dangerous. Yesterday, I acted on instinct because those children were in immediate emotional and physical danger. But I am a nurse, not a bodyguard. I don't belong in the mafia underworld."

Sophie dropped her toast, looking up at Grace with panic in her large brown eyes. "Are you leaving us, Grace?"

Grace’s heart clearly broke at the question. She immediately leaned over, touching Sophie’s cheek gently. "Oh, sweetie, no. I'm just..."

"Miss Miller," I interrupted, my voice low and earnest. "My business is violent because the world I operate in is violent. But this house... my children... they are my sanctuary. I spent two years trying to keep them safe by hiring professionals, guards, and high-society tutors. None of them mattered, because none of them cared."

I stood up, stepping closer to her.

"You protected my children when I wasn't here," I said, my voice thick with genuine emotion. "You took a blow meant for my daughter. I don't need another bodyguard, Grace. I need someone who can teach my children how to feel safe again. Please. Stay."

Grace looked from my eyes down to Sophie and Caleb, who were both watching her with pleading, hopeful faces.

She let out a long, quiet sigh, a warm smile spreading across her lips.

"On one condition," Grace said, looking back at me.

"Name it."