NO ONE COULD HANDLE THE MAFIA BOSS’S DAUGHTER—UNTIL A WAITRESS WALKED INTO THE CHAOS AND DID THE IMPOSSIBLE

windows overlooking manicured grounds. More space than Willow had ever had to herself in her life.

But she had no time to absorb it.

At 8:00 a.m. sharp, Marcus, the scarred head of security, knocked on her door.

“She’s awake,” he grunted. “Second-floor playroom. Good luck. We locked away the sharp objects, but she’s resourceful.”

Willow thanked him and continue reading …