He Kicked His Poor Ex at the Mall—Unaware She Was the Ruthless Mafia Boss's Wife

The Grand Palais Art Gallery in downtown Manhattan was a triumph of glass, white marble, and modern architecture.

Tonight was the grand opening of Sadie Vale’s restored historical art exhibit—a collection of 19th-century maritime paintings she had personally spent eighteen months recovering and restoring to their original glory.

Soft classical music echoed through the high-ceilinged room. Hundreds of wealthy patrons, art critics, and city dignitaries mingled near champagne towers, admiring the artwork illuminated by soft spotlights.

Sadie looked radiant in an elegant midnight-blue velvet gown that swept the floor. Her dark hair was styled in an elegant updo, secured with a diamond hairpiece Roman had given her for their second anniversary. On her right wrist sat a simple, elegant platinum bracelet.

Roman stood beside her, looking imposing in a sharp black tuxedo. His presence alone kept the overly curious socialites at a respectful distance.

“You look breathtaking,” Roman murmured into her ear, his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back.

Sadie leaned against him slightly, smiling at a passing art critic who bowed politely. “And you look like you’d rather be anywhere else in the world.”

Roman let out a soft, rare chuckle. “I dislike crowds. I dislike small talk. But I love seeing your work recognized.”

Arthur and Silas were positioned near the main entrances, wearing sleek tuxedos that barely concealed their shoulder holsters. Security was tighter than a federal vault, though Roman had made sure the guards remained discreet so as not to ruin Sadie’s night.

At 9:30 PM, a tall, distinguished man with silver hair approached Sadie and Roman. It was Mayor Anthony Thorne.

“Mrs. Vale, Mr. Vale,” Mayor Thorne said, raising his glass of champagne. “An extraordinary exhibit. The restoration work on the 1845 harbor piece is nothing short of miraculous.”

“Thank you, Mayor Thorne,” Sadie said gracefully. “It was a labor of love.”

“I must say,” Thorne added, looking at Roman with deep respect. “The city owes you both a great debt for what transpired three days ago. Cleaning out the Vanguard network has opened up immense opportunities for honest business here.”

“The city is safer,” Roman replied evenly. “That is all that matters.”

While the Mayor conversed with Roman, Sadie stepped toward the rear display room to adjust the lighting on a smaller watercolor painting.

The rear room was quieter, separated from the main hall by a thick velvet curtain.

As Sadie adjusted the spotlight dial on the wall, she heard a faint click behind her.

She turned around.

Standing near the private service exit was a man dressed as a catering waiter. But his hands were not carrying a tray of champagne glasses. He was holding a small black suppressed pistol.

Behind him stepped two other men in dark tactical uniforms, carrying heavy duffel bags.

Sadie’s heart did a sudden, violent drop, but her voice remained firm. “Who are you?”

The lead man stepped forward, his eyes cold and professional. “Mrs. Vale. Keep your hands where we can see them. You’re coming with us.”

Sadie slowly backed toward the velvet curtain. “Julian Vance is in prison. Whatever he’s paying you, my husband will double it.”

The mercenary chuckled dryly. “Vance paid us three weeks ago through an offshore escrow account. The contract is already locked. Now move.”

He lunged forward to grab her arm.

Sadie didn't scream. Instead, she reached up to her hair, pulled out the sharp diamond hairpiece Roman had given her, and drove the pointed metal tip directly into the mercenary’s forearm.

“AGH!” the man yelled, dropping his pistol as blood welled from his sleeve.

Sadie turned and threw herself through the velvet curtain into the main hall, screaming at the top of her lungs:

“ROMAN!”

The main hall erupted into immediate chaos. Guests shrieked and dropped their champagne glasses, scrambling toward the front doors.

Before the remaining two mercenaries could step through the curtain, Arthur and Silas were already moving. Arthur slammed through the curtain like a freight train, knocking the wounded lead mercenary off his feet and pinning him to the marble floor.

Silas drew his suppressed weapon, firing two precise non-lethal shots into the thighs of the second mercenary, dropping him instantly.

Roman rushed to Sadie’s side, wrapping his large body around her protectively, drawing a black weapon from his tuxedo jacket, sweeping the room with cold, terrifying precision.

The third mercenary panic-fired a burst from his submachine gun toward the ceiling, shattering a massive glass chandelier.

CRASH!

Heavy crystal rained down across the white floor. Guests screamed hysterically as they stampeded out the front doors.

The third mercenary turned to flee through the service exit, but Roman moved with terrifying speed. He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed the mercenary by his tactical vest, and threw him forcefully through a heavy glass display case.

The glass shattered into thousands of harmless safety fragments as the man hit the wall hard and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

The gallery went dead silent except for the sound of rain beating against the high skylights above.

Sadie stood near the velvet curtain, her breathing heavy, her midnight-blue dress untouched.

Roman walked back to her, putting his gun away inside his jacket. He cupped her face in his hands, examining her with fierce intensity.

“Are you hurt? Did they touch you?” Roman demanded, his voice shaking with a rare, terrifying emotion.

“I’m fine,” Sadie breathed, holding his wrists. “I used the hairpiece you gave me.”

Roman looked down at the bloody diamond hairpiece lying on the marble floor, then back at her face. A fierce, proud light burned in his pale eyes.

“Arthur,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a register that made even his own guards shiver. “Where did these men come from?”

Arthur lifted the lead mercenary by his collar, slapping his face to keep him conscious. “Talk, trash. Who gave the order?”

The mercenary spat blood onto the floor, grinning maliciously through broken teeth. “Vance... Vance set up a dead-man trigger... from prison... You can’t stop it, Vale... There are three more teams... coming for your wife...”

Roman stepped up to the bloody mercenary. He looked at him for two agonizingly long seconds.

Then Roman looked at Arthur.

“Take him to the basement at the docks,” Roman ordered softly. “And tell Special Agent Miller that Julian Vance’s prison privileges have just been revoked permanently.”