THEY CALLED ME A NOBODY MAID UNTIL I CUT THE POISON FROM THE MAFIA KING'S CHEST—AND HE MADE ME HIS QUEEN

Three days passed in an atmosphere of suspended violence.

The news of Dr. Cole's disappearance had rippled through the underworld like a shockwave. Vincenzo Moretti had gone silent, withdrawing his enforcers from the neutral zones in Midtown. But the city's governing council of crime bosses demanded an emergency summit—a grand banquet hosted at the neutral territory of the Manhattan Plaza Hotel.

I stood before the full-length mirror in the suite Gabriel had assigned to me. The simple cotton dress of a servant had been replaced by a floor-length gown of midnight navy satin, cut to hug my curves with elegant modesty. Around my neck hung a delicate pendant of white gold—Gabriel's personal crest.

A soft knock came at the door, and Gabriel entered. He was dressed in a bespoke black tuxedo, his arm no longer in a sling. The wound was healing cleanly, thanks to the natural salves and clean bandaging I applied every four hours.

He stopped, his eyes sweeping over me with an expression that made my heart race against my ribs.

"You look breathtaking, Elena," he said, stepping into the room.

"I feel like an imposter, Mr. Falcone," I confessed, smoothing the satin skirt nervously. "I don't belong among these people. They are ruthless. They will see right through me."

Gabriel walked up behind me, his reflection joining mine in the gilded mirror. He placed his large, warm hands on my shoulders, his fingers lightly brushing the exposed skin of my collarbone.

"You possess what none of them have," he whispered near my ear. "Honesty. Courage. And the sight to see the rot where others only see gold."

"Why am I coming with you tonight?" I asked, turning slightly to meet his gaze.

"Because Vincenzo will be there," Gabriel replied, his jaw hardening. "And so will the man who provided the Silk Harbor thread. I need your eyes, Elena. When we walk into that ballroom, you will look at their lapels, their cuffs, and their hands. The manufacturer of that cord left a chemical mark. Find it for me."