"YOU'RE JUST THE HELP," HIS FIANCÉE SNEERED—THEN THE BILLIONAIRE MAFIA DON SHED HIS COAT, CROWNED HER WITH HIS NAME, AND BURNED THE ENTIRE CITY DOWN FOR HER

The sun rose over the East River in streaks of cold gold and gray. Inside the Duca penthouse, Lena woke to the soft scent of lavender and clean Egyptian cotton sheets. For a moment, she forgot where she was—until she saw the modern security cameras blinking silently near the vaulted ceiling and the lavish walk-in closet filled with brand-new designer clothes in her exact size.

Her ankle was neatly bandaged; the physician had treated the sprain during the night while Maya slept peacefully in the adjoining room.

When Lena walked into the sunlit dining area wearing a modest charcoal cashmere sweater and tailored slacks, she found Matteo sitting at the long glass table, surrounded by three men in dark suits. Spread across the table were legal deeds, surveillance photographs, and bank account ledgers.

Matteo looked up, immediately dismissing his lieutenants with a single nod. The men bowed and exited without a word.

"Good morning," Matteo said, pouring a cup of black coffee and sliding it toward the empty seat across from him. "How is your ankle?"

"Better. Thank you," Lena said, taking a cautious seat. "Where is Maya?"

"She is in the media room with my housekeeper, Maria. Eating pancakes and watching cartoons. She has four armed men outside her door. She is safer than the President."

Lena took a sip of the rich coffee, letting the warmth settle her nerves. "What is all this?" she asked, pointing at the files.

"This is the end of Alisandre Vitali," Matteo said smoothly. "At noon today, the heads of the Five Families are meeting at the Plaza Athenee for what was supposed to be the formal signing of our engagement contract. Don Carmine Vitali, Alisandre’s father, believes the wedding is still on."

"He doesn't know about the poison?"

"He knows," Matteo sneered, his eyes turning cold as a winter frost. "He planned it with her. The plan was for me to die three days after the wedding so the Vitalis could absorb the Duca shipping ports in Brooklyn. But since the poison failed last night, Carmine sent his hitmen to kill you to destroy the evidence."

Lena swallowed hard. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to attend the luncheon," Matteo said, leaning back in his chair. "And you are coming with me."

Lena nearly choked on her coffee. "Me? Are you insane? They want me dead!"

"They want a frightened maid dead," Matteo corrected her, his voice dropping into that deep, hypnotic cadence that brooked no argument. "They are not prepared to face the woman who holds the dagger at their throats. You will walk into that room on my arm. You will place the lab report of the poison on the table. And you will watch me strip the Vitali family of everything they own."

"Why do you need me there, Matteo? You have guns. You have an army."

Matteo leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto hers with terrifying sincerity. "Because Alisandre made you kneel in front of sixty people. Because she called you worthless help. In my family, justice isn't just about killing your enemies. It's about restoring the dignity they tried to steal from you."

Two hours later, a sleek black convoy pulled up to the front entrance of the Plaza Athenee.

Lena stepped out of the vehicle wearing a striking emerald-green silk dress that hugged her curves with regal elegance, paired with diamond stud earrings Matteo had insisted she wear. Her dark hair was swept up in an intricate updo, accentuating the sharp, beautiful angles of her jawline.

Matteo offered his arm. "Ready?"

Lena took a deep breath, slipped her hand into the crook of his powerful arm, and lifted her head high. "Let's finish this."

They entered the private ballroom. The room was packed with eighty high-ranking syndicate members, city officials, and family patriarchs. At the center table sat Don Carmine Vitali—an older man with slicked-back gray hair and a cruel mouth—and beside him sat Alisandre, dressed in an immaculate white lace gown, acting the part of the glowing bride-to-be.

When the double doors opened and Matteo walked in—not alone, but with Lena Carter on his arm—the entire room fell into an icy, stunned silence.

Alisandre dropped her champagne flute. The glass shattered across the floor, mimicking the previous night.

"Matteo?" Carmine Vitali stood up, his face darkening with rage. "What is the meaning of this? Who is this woman on your arm?"

Matteo led Lena straight to the head of the table, stopping inches from Alisandre.

"This is Lena Carter," Matteo announced, his voice ringing through the hall like a death bell. "The woman your daughter called 'just the help' while attempting to lace my vintage reserve with five hundred milligrams of aconite poison."

Gasps erupted across the room. Don Carmine slammed his fist onto the table. "Lies! Slander! You insult my daughter on our wedding day based on the word of a common servant?"

Matteo gestured slightly. Gianni, his second-in-command, stepped forward and slammed a thick manila folder onto the center of the table, accompanied by a high-resolution 4K security video playing on a tablet: Alisandre’s hand slipping the pill into the glass, clear as day.

"The Commission has already reviewed the footage, Carmine," Matteo said softly. "The contract is void. Your territories in North River are forfeit. And your daughter has twenty-four hours to leave this country, or she will be delivered to the Brooklyn harbor in a pine box."

Alisandre lunged forward, her face twisted in hysterical fury, pointing a manicured finger at Lena. "You! You ruined my life, you filthy little gutter rat!"

Before Alisandre could touch Lena, Matteo caught Alisandre’s wrist in an iron grip. He squeezed until the heiress cried out in agony, dropping to her knees on the floor.