Chapter 1
The Secretary Who Should Have Been Fired
Bridget Sullivan’s first mistake happened exactly nine minutes after arriving at Moretti Logistics.
The second mistake happened three seconds later.
The third mistake landed directly on Dante Moretti’s lap.
The elevator doors slid open onto the top floor of a luxury skyscraper in Tribeca. Bridget adjusted her thrift-store blazer and clutched her oversized tote bag tighter against her chest.
She had spent twenty-six years being told she was too much.
Too loud.
Too awkward.
Too heavy.
Too clumsy.
Today she was simply hoping not to embarrass herself before lunch.
That hope lasted approximately twelve seconds.
The heel of her loafer caught the metal elevator threshold.
“Oh no.”
She stumbled forward.
Her tote bag exploded.
Tampons, receipts, lip balm, granola bars, and a half-finished crossword puzzle scattered across the polished marble floor.
A pair of expensive Italian leather shoes stopped directly in front of her.
Bridget slowly looked up.
Way up.
The giant standing above her looked like he ate nails for breakfast.
Tattooed neck.
Black suit.
Expression permanently set to homicide.
“Watch it.”
His voice sounded like gravel in a blender.
Bridget’s face turned bright red.
“Oh sweet mother of cheese, I’m sorry.”
The giant blinked.
Most people froze when he spoke.
This woman apologized to the floor.
Then to her tote bag.
Then to a pen she accidentally stepped on.
The giant stared.
“What exactly are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
“You do?”
“I hope so. Unless I got the address wrong and accidentally wandered into organized crime.”
The giant nearly choked.
For the first time in ten years, Luca Romano—chief enforcer of the Moretti family—was speechless.
Five minutes later, Bridget stood outside the office of Dante Moretti.
The Dante Moretti.
Even she knew the name.
New York billionaire.
Shipping king.
Business genius.
Human iceberg.
She balanced a silver tray carrying fresh espresso and took a deep breath.
“You can do this.”
She pushed open the doors.
And immediately ruined everything.
The office looked like something from a movie.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Dark mahogany furniture.
Leather chairs worth more than her car.
And behind the massive desk sat the most intimidating man she’d ever seen.
Dante Moretti.
Dark hair.
Sharp jaw.
Ice-blue eyes.
A face carved from stone and bad decisions.
He didn’t even glance up.
“Put the coffee down.”
His deep voice echoed through the room.
“Organize the files.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bridget took three careful steps.
Then the universe remembered who she was.
Her left foot hooked behind her right ankle.
The tray launched into the air.
The espresso followed.
Time slowed.
The coffee performed a graceful, beautiful arc through space.
And landed directly in Dante Moretti’s lap.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Bridget stared.
Dante stared.
Somewhere outside the office, Luca whispered a prayer.
Bridget slowly lowered herself onto her knees.
Covered her face.
And groaned.
“Please just kill me.”
Silence.
“I’ll understand.”
More silence.
“I’ll even help.”
Still nothing.
Bridget peeked through her fingers.
Dante was standing.
Coffee dripped from his ruined designer trousers.
His jaw flexed.
One eyebrow twitched.
Every survival instinct she possessed screamed.
Run.
Hide.
Move to another country.
Instead, she sighed.
“Before you fire me, I should mention I type ninety words a minute.”
Dante blinked.
“What?”
“My filing system is excellent.”
“What?”
“And I once broke my own nose while sneezing.”
Dante continued staring.
Bridget swallowed.
“That last part isn’t really relevant.”
For the first time in years, Dante Moretti felt something dangerously unfamiliar.
Amusement.
Tiny.
Unexpected.
But real.
Everyone around him lied.
Manipulated.
Pretended.
This woman was standing in front of him after destroying a two-thousand-dollar suit and somehow discussing her medical history.
She wasn’t afraid.
Well.
She was terrified.
But she wasn’t pretending.
And that was rare.
Very rare.
Dante picked up a napkin and calmly wiped his trousers.
“Clean up the glass.”
Bridget blinked.
“That’s it?”
“If you bleed on my rug, you’re fired.”
Her mouth fell open.
“You mean I still have a job?”
Dante finally looked directly into her eyes.
Bright green.
Honest.
Warm.
Dangerously warm.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Dante sat back down.
“Ms. Sullivan.”
“Yes?”
“Try not to destroy anything else today.”
Bridget smiled nervously.
“No promises.”
Dante watched her hurry toward the broken cup.
And for the first time in a very long time…
The king of New York’s underworld smiled.
Just a little.
Because chaos had just walked into his office.
And her name was Bridget Sullivan.
(To Be Continued…)
