He Watched Her Cry at His Grave for Six Months… Then the “Dead” Mafia King Walked Back Into Her Life

“Miss Donovan,” he said with a small nod. “Thank you.”

“Who sent you?”

“I was instructed not to answer that directly.”

“Then answer it indirectly.”

A flicker of almost-amusement touched his face.

“He asked me to tell you that the first night he saw you, he knew you were going to ruin his life.”

My knees nearly gave out.

The man stepped forward and handed me the box and a thick cream envelope.

“He also asked me to tell you that you have never been unprotected. Not for one day.”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Daniel Mercer. I’ve worked for Mr. Moretti a long time.”

Worked.

Not worked for.

Work.

Present tense.

I looked at him as if staring hard enough could force the universe back into something rational.

“He’s alive.”

Daniel held my gaze. “Yes.”

I laughed once, sharp and broken. “That’s not funny.”

“No, ma’am. It isn’t.”

“Do you have any idea what he did to me?”

The man’s expression shifted then. Not defensiveness. Not guilt. Something closer to sorrow on someone else’s behalf.

“I do,” he said. “He does too.”

I clutched the box tighter. “Where is he?”

“Safe enough to watch. Not safe enough to come to you. Yet.”

Yet.