It wasn't just Graham who went down; it was his entire family dynasty.

Evelyn Vale—the matriarch who had sat in the front row of Ballroom C watching her son’s betrayal with cold, stony indifference—found her family’s real estate empire subjected to an aggressive, unyielding federal audit led by none other than Dante Moretti’s primary financial advisory firm. Within three weeks, two of the Vale family’s largest commercial developments were forced into bankruptcy restructuring, and their social standing dissolved like sugar in hot water.

I tried to keep my focus on the shop. I threw myself into floral arrangements, expanded our corporate delivery routes, and began meeting with architects regarding the upcoming South Boston waterfront pavilion project.

Yet, working with Dante Moretti was an education in controlled intensity.

He didn't just fund projects; he immersed himself in every detail. Twice a week, he would show up at Bellamy Blooms unannounced, wearing a dark trench coat, smelling of rain and city traffic, and quietly sit in the back corner of the shop while I worked, watching the way my hands moved as I trimmed stems and wrapped bouquets.

It was intimidating. It was distracting. And, heaven help me, it was intoxicating.

It was a chilly Tuesday evening in late October. The shop had closed at 7:00 PM, and I was in the back workroom inventorying a fresh shipment of orchids when the front bell chimed.

“We’re closed,” I called out, wiping my hands on my apron.

“Good,” a familiar, deep voice replied from the showroom.

Dante stepped through the doorway into the workroom. He had shed his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, corded strength of his arms.

“You make a habit of locking yourself in here after dark,” Dante noted, leaning against the wooden workbench.

“I like the quiet,” I replied, turning back to my inventory sheet. “And unlike some people, I actually have to work for my living.”

A faint, rare smile touched the corners of Dante’s mouth. “Is that an insult or an invitation?”

“Take it however you like, Mr. Moretti.”

Dante walked closer, stopping just inches away. The ambient warmth radiating from him filled the small workroom. He reached out, gently taking the clipboard out of my hands and setting it aside on the counter.

“I received a visit today,” Dante said, his tone suddenly dropping its playful edge.

I paused, looking up at him. “Who?”

“Evelyn Vale.”

My breath hitched. The name alone brought back the cold humiliation of that empty ballroom. “What did she want?”

“She wanted to beg for a debt restructuring on their commercial holdings in the Financial District,” Dante said flatly, his dark eyes darkening with cold fury. “She sat in my office, crying crocodile tears about family honor, family legacy, and how a girl from South Boston with no pedigree had no business disrupting generations of established Boston society.”

A hot flash of anger surged through my chest. “And what did you tell her?”

“I told her,” Dante said, stepping closer until his chest brushed against my apron, “that the only reason her family wasn't currently facing criminal conspiracy charges alongside her son in a federal penitentiary was because I had better things to do than step on insects.”

I stared up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Dante...”

“She tried to insinuate that you were just a gold-digger who traded one wealthy man for another,” Dante continued, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic register as he cupped my jaw with his warm hand. “She had no idea that the moment I offered you a rent-free partnership in the waterfront pavilion, you told me you wouldn't accept a single penny of charity unless your shop earned every square foot.”

His thumb gently stroked my cheekbone, right over the spot where a stray thorn had scratched me days ago.

“You’re nothing like them, June,” Dante murmured softly, his gaze locking onto my lips. “You’re real. You’re unbreakable.”

Before I could form a coherent thought, before my racing heart could catch up with the terrifying proximity between us, Dante leaned down and kissed me.

It wasn't a tentative kiss. It was deep, confident, and consuming—a quiet declaration of war against every ghost of my past.