The silence in the marble corridor was absolute, so dense that the quiet dripping of blood onto the polished stone sounded like rainfall.

By 3:00 AM, the Marchetti mansion was converted into a war room.

Heavy rain lashed against the tall glass windows of the study downstairs as Enzo stood behind his mahogany desk, studying a map of the Chicago docks. Surrounding him were his five most loyal captains—seasoned veterans of the city's bloody underground battles.

"Ashford has recruited two hundred mercenaries from Detroit," Captain Bruno reported, slamming a heavily scarred hand onto the desk. "They're staging at the rail yard near 47th Street. They know if they lose the shipping docks, the Ashford syndicate goes under by morning."

"Let them stage," Enzo said coldly, taking a slow sip of black coffee. "Arthur Ashford is a dog who barks loudest when he knows he’s backed into a corner. He thinks the New York Commission will protect him because of his family's political connections."

"And will they?" Bruno asked nervously. "The Commission hates instability, Enzo. If this war disrupts trade across the Midwest, they might back Ashford just to keep the peace."

"They won't back a dead man," Enzo replied smoothly.

Suddenly, a quiet knock echoed at the heavy study door.

The five captains instinctively reached inside their suits, their hands gripping the handles of their concealed firearms.

"Enter," Enzo called out.

The door creaked open, and Adeline stepped inside.

She had washed her face and changed out of her ruined maid’s uniform into a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and black trousers that one of the housekeepers had brought her from the guest wardrobe. She looked small, delicate, and entirely out of place amidst five armed mob bosses, but her posture was steady.

"Adeline," Enzo’s tone instantly softened, surprising every captain in the room. "I told you to rest. Your injuries—"

"I brought you this, sir," she said softly, walking past the hardened killers who stared at her in utter astonishment. She placed a small, silver tray on his desk containing a porcelain cup of hot chamomile tea and a plate of toasted bread. "You haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. And you shouldn't drink black coffee on an empty stomach when you're preparing for war."

The five captains exchanged stunned, wide-eyed glances. No servant in thirty years had ever dared to walk into a Marchetti war council, let alone lecture the Don on his coffee intake.

Enzo looked down at the tea, then up at Adeline’s calm, serious expression.

A faint, almost invisible smile touched the corner of his lips.

"Thank you, Adeline," Enzo said, taking the porcelain cup. He took a sip, testing it, before looking back at his men. "Leave us. Execute the blockade at the rail yard. I want Arthur Ashford isolated by dawn."

"Yes, Boss," the captains chorused, bowing their heads before filing out of the room, casting lingering, curious looks at the young maid as they closed the door behind them.

Once they were alone, the heavy silence of the study settled over them, broken only by the patter of rain against the glass.

Enzo walked around his desk and sat on the edge, looking down at Adeline. "You shouldn't be wandering the house, little bird. It's dangerous tonight."

"I couldn't sleep," Adeline confessed, clutching her wrapped forearm. "I kept hearing the rain... and I was worried."

"Worried about the estate?"

"Worried about you," she said truthfully, her eyes locking onto his. "Arthur Ashford is a desperate man, Mr. Marchetti. When men like him lose everything, they try to take everyone down with them."

Enzo reached out, his long fingers gently catching a stray strand of dark hair that had fallen across her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, completely at odds with his formidable reputation.

"They won't take me down, Adeline," Enzo whispered, his voice dark and hypnotic. "And as long as you are under my roof, no one will ever raise a hand to you again. I give you my word as a Marchetti."

Adeline felt a sudden, electric heat surge through her chest at his proximity. For eleven days, she had viewed him as an untouchable king—a man who moved in a world of supreme wealth and terrifying power. But sitting here in the dim light of the study, she saw the man behind the crown: fiercely loyal, deeply protective, and dangerously attractive.

Before she could answer, his private phone rang, breaking the spell.

Enzo pulled the phone from his pocket and answered it. "Speak."

"Enzo," Arthur Ashford’s raspy, furious voice echoed through the speaker. "I have fifty men surrounding your estate's south perimeter. Give me my daughter back, or I will blow your gates off their hinges and burn your house to the ground!"

Enzo didn't flinch. He looked directly at Adeline, his eyes turning to cold liquid steel.

"Arthur," Enzo said smoothly into the receiver. "You made two fatal mistakes tonight. First, you sent your daughter to poison my drink. Second... you made my maid bleed."