She crawled under a banquet table to ESCAPE her mother’s matchmaking scheme—only to find a tattooed, six-foot-three MAFIA BOSS hiding there with a chicken sandwich… but when she discovered his true identity, the most feared man in northern New York did something NOBODY expected.

“Should I bring another sandwich?”

Frankie stood over the table with the patient expression of a man who had spent years protecting a dangerous employer and had never been trained to retrieve him from beneath furniture.

Rocco looked at the half sandwich in Evelyn’s hand. “Apparently, yes.”

Evelyn covered her mouth. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“I’m not encouraging anyone,” Frankie said. “I’m asking whether the kitchen should prepare a second plate.”

“Two plates,” Rocco replied. “And coffee.”

Frankie’s eyes moved to Evelyn. “For the lady?”

“For the lady.”

The bodyguard nodded and lowered the tablecloth. A moment later, Evelyn heard his footsteps retreat.

She looked at Rocco. “You really do this often?”

“Hide beneath tables?”

“Eat sandwiches while avoiding your mother.”

“Not often enough to have developed a better strategy.”

Evelyn laughed, then remembered where she was. The Ventresca estate was full of guests, most of whom had arrived for the engagement celebration of her younger sister, Sophie, and Rocco’s brother, Luca. Somewhere upstairs, Margaret Hartwell was probably organizing a search party. Evelyn had already missed two introductions to Martin Colby, the widower her mother had selected with the determination of a general planning a campaign.

She checked her phone. “I should go.”

Rocco’s expression changed. “Do you want to?”

The question was so simple that she almost answered honestly.

“No,” she admitted. “But if I stay, my mother will find me.”

“Then perhaps she should.”

“You say that because you’ve never met her.”

“I have. She told me I looked tired and needed to eat more.”

Evelyn glanced at the sandwich. “She may have a point.”

Rocco looked personally betrayed. “I thought we were allies.”

“We are. I’m just not blind.”

A phone vibrated in Rocco’s pocket. He checked it, and the humor left his face.

“Problem?” Evelyn asked.

“Someone has been asking the staff about your workshop.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet. But whoever it is used your full name.”

They crawled out from beneath the table. Rocco stood first and offered his hand. Evelyn accepted. He brushed a crumb from his sleeve, then looked at her burgundy dress.

“You look beautiful,” he said. “The color suits you.”

She went still. She had spent twenty minutes upstairs changing outfits because every mirror seemed eager to remind her that formalwear was designed for a body other than hers. Rocco’s simple compliment felt different from the careful praise of people trying to sell her a husband.

Before she could answer, a crash sounded from the ballroom. The quartet stopped. Luca’s voice cut through the noise.

“Rocco. Now.”

Rocco’s phone vibrated again. He read the message, and every trace of amusement vanished.

“Stay with Frankie,” he told Evelyn.

“What happened?”

“Someone broke into the west archive.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”