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 next morning broke clear, cold, and bright over Philadelphia.

By 8:00 AM, the political fallout from the night before hit Vale House like a localized hurricane.

In the grand dining room, Grant Mercer was pacing back and forth near the long table, two phones buzzing continuously on the mahogany surface before him.

"Yes, Senator," Grant said into the first phone, his voice tight. "I understand Mr. Wells is angry. But the decision was made by Mr. Vale personally... No, there will be no renegotiation... Good day."

He slammed the phone down, grabbed the second one, and answered it before it could finish its third ring.

"Marcus," Grant barked. "What are the docks saying?"

"The union reps from Chicago are threatening to pull their shipping contracts," his chief of security reported over the line. "Caroline Wells’ father is stirring up the board in New Jersey. They think Adrian went crazy last night."

"He didn't go crazy," Grant said, glancing up toward the grand staircase. "He just found a woman."

"A woman? Which one? The Wells girl?"

"No," Grant said, a dry smile touching his lips. "Nora Bennett."

Silence hung over the line for three full seconds.

"The maid?" Marcus asked, his voice filled with utter disbelief. "He passed over fifty million in political alliances for the woman who cleans the east wing?"

"She brought him his mother's recipe note from the back hall, Marcus," Grant said softly. "The one Thomas hung thirty years ago."

Marcus let out a long, low whistle. "God help us. The Chicago families are going to think he's vulnerable. They're going to test him."

"Let them try," a deep voice cut through the dining room.

Adrian Vale stepped into the room.

He was dressed impeccably in a charcoal three-piece suit, his dark hair combed back, his posture commanding and rigid. But there was something different about him this morning. The sharp, permanent tension around his mouth had softened slightly. His dark eyes were alert, bright, and focused.

Behind him walked Nora.

She was no longer wearing her black maid's dress or her white apron. She wore a simple, elegant dark green wool dress that fitted her soft, curvy frame beautifully, her dark brown hair hanging loose over her shoulders in soft, glossy waves.

Grant stopped pacing. He looked at Nora, then at Adrian, and slowly set his phone down on the table.

"Good morning, Nora," Grant said, his tone entirely respectful, without a trace of condescension.

"Good morning, Mr. Mercer," Nora said softly, offering him a warm smile.

"Grant," Adrian said, stepping to the head of the dining table and pulling out the main armchair for Nora. "Call a meeting of the family council for two o'clock this afternoon."

Grant blinked. "The full council? Including the New Jersey bosses?"

"Including everyone," Adrian said, waiting until Nora was comfortably seated before sitting down beside her. "I want every family head, every shipping director, and every union boss in the tri-state area in the main gallery by two."

"And what am I telling them the meeting is about?" Grant asked, pulling out his notepad.