The Mafia Boss Let Seven Women Take Anything From His Mansion, but His Curvy Maid Chose the One Thing He Could Never Buy Back

The moment Adrian’s eyes fell upon the cheap pine frame in Nora Bennett’s hands, every muscle in his six-foot-three frame locked into absolute rigidity.

The color drained from his face so fast that even Grant Mercer took an instinctive step backward, his eyes widening in shock.

"Adrian?" Grant whispered, his hand drifting toward his jacket lining out of old habit. "Adrian, what is that?"

Adrian didn't answer his cousin. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe.

The room, which had been filled with the light, mocking laughter of wealthy women, suddenly plummeted into a suffocating, freezing silence.

The air in the gallery changed instantly—from a game of romantic political calculation to something cold, deadly, and terrifyingly real.

Adrian took one step toward Nora. Then another.

His dark eyes were fixed entirely on the yellowed piece of notebook paper beneath the glass. His scar—the pale line crossing his left eyebrow—flushed a dark, angry red against his sudden pallor.

"Where did you find that?" Adrian asked. His voice was not loud. It was a raspy, low whisper that sounded as if it had been dragged through gravel and crushed glass.

Nora stood her ground. She did not lower her eyes. She did not tremble under the intense, crushing weight of his gaze.

"In the rear service corridor, Mr. Vale," Nora said softly, her voice clear and firm. "On the wall behind the old kitchen pantry. Next to the disused circuit breaker."

Caroline Wells stepped forward, clearly annoyed that her moment of triumph was being stolen by a household servant.

"Adrian, really, this is absurd," Caroline snapped, reaching out a manicured hand as if to wave Nora away. "She's clearly trying to make some bizarre statement to embarrass you. Send her back to the kitchen so we can finish discussing our choices—"

"Get out," Adrian said.

He didn't turn his head to look at Caroline. He didn't look at any of the seven women.

Caroline froze, her hand hanging in the air. "I... excuse me?"

Adrian finally turned his head slowly, his dark eyes burning with an intense, lethal fire that made Caroline’s breath catch in her throat.

"Every single one of you," Adrian said, his voice dropping an octave into an absolute, non-negotiable command. "Leave this house. Now."

"Adrian!" Lauren Shaw stepped forward, her voice rising in outrage as she pointed at her heavy bags of uncut diamonds. "You brought us here! You promised us a choice! You said whatever we chose was ours to keep!"

"Take your diamonds," Adrian said, his tone flat, deadly, and ice-cold. "Take your coins. Take the car. Take the wine, the painting, the land deed, and the dagger. Take everything you picked and get off my property before I have my men throw you into the river."

The seven women gasped.

"You can't treat us like this!" Melissa Crane shouted, her cheeks flushing red with indignation. "Our families hold half the political capital in this city! My father—"

"Grant," Adrian interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Escort our guests to their vehicles. If anyone is still on the driveway in five minutes, seize their cars and lock the gates."

Grant Mercer didn't hesitate. He knew his cousin. He had seen Adrian look like this only once before in his entire life—the night Thomas Vale had died in the fire on the Delaware River.

"Ladies," Grant said sharply, stepping between the women and his cousin, waving four heavily armed security guards forward from the side doors. "You heard Mr. Vale. The evening is over. Move to the main doors immediately."

"This is an insult!" Caroline spat, her eyes flashing with pure fury as she picked up her velvet coin box. "You chose a maid over us! A fat, plain maid who carries trash from your hallway!"

Adrian didn't answer her insult. He didn't even look at her.

He took three slow, deliberate steps forward, placing his heavy body directly between Caroline and Nora, effectively shielding the maid from Caroline's glare.

The security guards moved in, politely but firmly steering the seven shouting, indignant women out through the grand double doors of the gallery. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind them with a deafening thud that echoed like thunder through the mansion.

The grand gallery was suddenly empty.

The air was still filled with the lingering scents of roses and expensive perfume, but the noise was gone.

Only two people remained standing in the vast, high-ceilinged room.