The Mafia Boss Heard His Assistant Crying — He Dropped Everything And Rushed To Her

The victory at the maritime board was absolute, but the war was far from over.

Three weeks had passed since the night Andrew had smashed through the window of Cindy’s apartment. The city had returned to its routine, but the hierarchy within Carter Logistics had shifted irrevocably.

Cindy no longer worked from the small, windowless secretarial desk outside Andrew’s office. She had been moved to an expansive corner office on the top floor—a room with floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the harbor, connected directly to Andrew’s private suite by an interior oak door that was rarely closed.

She sat at her mahogany desk, reviewing the final lease transfers for Pier 42. Her bruises had faded, leaving only a faint trace of pink near her eye, but the mental scars of that night remained. Every time a door slammed too hard in the hallway, or an unfamiliar footstep approached her office, her body tensed involuntarily.

A soft knock came at the interior door.

Andrew stepped through, carrying two paper cups of coffee from the Italian café down the street. He set one on her desk, sitting down on the edge of her workspace as he watched her red-pen a legal document.

"You're working late again," he said gently.

"It's only seven," she replied, looking up with a soft smile. "And someone has to make sure the legal team doesn't accidentally sign over our fuel rights."

Andrew looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes tracing the elegant line of her jaw. "I spoke with a real estate agent today," he said quietly.

Cindy blinked, setting her pen down. "Real estate?"

"Your old apartment is cleared out," Andrew said. "Lucas had your belongings moved into storage. But you can't go back to Forty-Second Street, Cindy. It's not safe, and..." He paused, looking away for a fraction of a second. "And I don't want you living there."

"Andrew, I can't stay at your Riverdale estate forever," she said softly, though the thought of leaving his house sent a sudden ache through her chest. Over the past three weeks, those quiet evenings in his library—where they ate simple dinners, talked about her sister in Ohio, and shared stories of their pasts—had become the happiest moments of her life. "People in the office are already talking. They see me coming in with you every morning. They think..."

"Let them think whatever they want," Andrew said, his voice hardening slightly. "I don't care about the gossip of clerks and middle managers."

"I care!" she blurted out, standing up from her chair. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the glittering lights of the city below. "I care because I spent three years earning my place here! I wanted you to respect me because I was good at my job, Andrew! Not because... not because I'm some helpless woman you rescued!"

Andrew stood up slowly. He walked over to her, stopping right behind her. The heat of his body radiated against her back, his presence wrapping around her like an invisible shield.

"Do you think I respect you because of what happened three weeks ago?" he asked, his voice low and thick with emotion near her ear.

She didn't answer.

He reached out, grabbing her gently by the waist and turning her around to face him. His hands rested on her hips, his thumbs brushing against the soft wool of her skirt.

"I respected you the first week you started here," he whispered, looking down into her eyes with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. "When every man in this building tried to intimidate you, and you threw a seventy-page budget report back in Rossy’s face because he miscalculated two hundred dollars in port fees. I respected you when you stayed until two in the morning to organize my mother's medical records so I wouldn't have to worry about her."

Cindy felt tears sting the back of her eyes.

"I didn't fall in love with you three weeks ago, Cindy," Andrew murmured, his hand moving up to cup her cheek, his thumb softly tracing her lower lip. "I fell in love with you three years ago, the first morning you walked into my office, sat across from me, and looked at me like a man instead of a monster."

Cindy gasped, her breath catching in her throat. "Andrew..."

Before she could speak, his dark head lowered, and his mouth found hers.

The kiss was deep, slow, and desperate—a sudden dam breaking after three long years of silent restraint. Cindy let out a soft sigh against his lips, her arms rising instinctively to wrap around his neck, her fingers tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled her flush against his chest, his large hands anchoring her to him as if he meant to hold her there forever.