Twelve Doctors Said the Mafia Boss Would Die Before Sunrise Until the Maid Recognized the Pink Ring in His Glass

The victory at Pier 9 sent shockwaves through Graybridge’s underworld.

Marcus Vance disappeared from his estate before midnight, realizing his play had failed and that Gideon now possessed full proof of his betrayal.

In a private penthouse overlooking the city, Marcus stood trembling before a man sitting in the shadows near a fireplace.

The man was Nikolai Morozov—the leader of the Morozov Clan, a ruthless syndicate expanding its territory across the east coast.

“You promised me the docks, Vance,” Morozov said in a low, heavily accented voice. “You promised me Gideon Wolf would be dead three days ago.”

“It was the maid!” Vance stammered, sweat pouring down his face. “She figured out the grapefruit juice! Then she blocked the federal seizure at the pier! She’s some kind of financial prodigy Gideon hired!”

Morozov stood up slowly. He was a massive man with a scarred face and cold blue eyes.

“A maid,” Morozov repeated softly. “Gideon Wolf’s entire empire is being protected by a woman who used to sweep his floors?”

“She’s his vulnerability,” Vance pleaded. “Gideon keeps her right beside him now! He takes her everywhere! If we eliminate her, Gideon will lose his mind—and his strategic edge!”

Morozov turned toward his chief operative—a lethal assassin known as The Specter.

“Find this girl,” Morozov ordered coldly. “Bring her to me. Let us see how smart she is when she is sitting in my basement.”

Back at Blackwood Estate, the mood was quietly celebratory.

Gideon had hosted an intimate late-night dinner in the grand dining hall for his senior staff—a rare event for a man who usually ate alone.

Norah sat at his right hand, wearing a dark blue velvet dress that accentuated her figure. She was no longer treated as a servant by Arthur or the high-level commanders; they spoke to her with genuine respect, listening attentively whenever she shared an observation about the syndicate’s finances.

When the dinner concluded, Gideon led Norah out onto the grand terrace overlooking the misty gardens.

The rain had finally stopped, leaving a quiet, crisp night air.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Gideon said softly, stepping close to her at the marble railing.

Norah felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you, Gideon. It’s strange... sitting at that table instead of serving it.”

“You belong at that table,” Gideon said firmly. He turned to face her, resting his hand against the marble beside her waist. “When I was dying, I thought my life’s work was over. I thought Grayhaven would burn, and everything I built would crumble.”

He looked into her green eyes with unvarnished emotion.

“You didn't just save my life, Norah. You gave me a reason to keep fighting.”

Norah looked up at him, her heart beating wildly against her ribs. In the dim moonlight, the terrifying boss of Graybridge looked human, vulnerable, and deeply devoted to her.

“Gideon...” she whispered.

He leaned down, his warm hand gently cradling her cheek. He brought his lips down onto hers in a slow, tender kiss that sent shiver straight down her spine.

Norah closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him back with all the quiet passion she had suppressed for weeks.

When they finally broke apart, Gideon rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“Stay with me, Norah,” he whispered. “Not just as my analyst. As my equal.”

“I’m staying,” she promised softly.