“Any Last Wish?” The Fiancée Sneered At The Maid — Unaware The Mafia Boss Was Listening

By midnight, the heavy autumn rain had begun to fall against the tall arched windows of the estate, blurring the garden lights into smears of amber and yellow. The noise in the ballroom had shifted from formal chatter to the drunken, loud posturing of men who believed their money made them invincible.

Elena slipped out through the french doors of the library onto the covered stone terrace, carrying a bus tub filled with empty crystal flutes. The cool, damp air was a merciful relief from the stifling heat of the ballroom. She set the tub down on a wrought-iron table and leaned against the cold stone pillar, closing her eyes for a single, quiet breath.

"You're working too hard, Elena."

The low, gravelly baritone voice startled her.

Elena opened her eyes instantly, stepping back from the pillar, her posture snapping into rigid military discipline.

Adrienne Valente stood in the shadowy alcove near the ivy-covered archway. He had undone his bow tie, letting it hang loosely around his unbuttoned collar. A half-burned cigarette rested between his long, scarred fingers, the orange ember glowing faintly in the damp dark.

"Mr. Valente," Elena said, her voice soft, even, and polite. She lowered her eyes. "I’m just clearing the terrace tables. I'll be out of your way in a moment."

"Stop it," Adrienne said quietly. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the cold rain. "There’s no one out here, Elena. Drop the maid routine for two minutes."

Elena didn't move. "It isn't a routine, sir. It’s my job. And tonight is your engagement party. You shouldn't be out here alone."

Adrienne let out a short, dark laugh that sounded more like a sigh. He took a step out of the shadows, his heavy leather shoes clicking against the wet stone. He stood three feet away from her—close enough that she could smell the rich, smoky scent of his bourbon, his expensive cologne, and the rain clinging to his dark wool coat.

He was intimidating to everyone in New York, but to Elena, he was the man who had found her five years ago when her father owed money to loan sharks—the man who had cleared her father's debts, brought her into his home, and ensured she had a safe roof over her head and a steady wage.

"My engagement," Adrienne repeated, his voice bitter. He looked out over the dark, rain-soaked gardens. "An alliance built on tax write-offs and Chicago territory rights. My father would have loved it."

"She is very beautiful, Mr. Valente," Elena offered quietly. "And her family brings immense power to your syndicate."

Adrienne turned his head, his amber eyes locking onto hers with a fierce, burning intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

"I don't give a damn about her family's power," Adrienne growled softly. He reached out, his thick, calloused fingers hesitating in the air for a fraction of a second before gently brushing against the cuff of her grey sleeve. "I care about loyalty. I care about truth. Victoria Laurent doesn't see a man when she looks at me, Elena. She sees a throne."

"And what do you see when you look at her?" Elena asked before she could stop herself.

The words hung in the rain-filled air between them, dangerous and electric.

Adrienne stepped closer. His massive frame shadowed her completely against the stone pillar. He looked down at her small, pale face, his gaze tracing the soft curve of her lips, the dark curls escaping her hairpins, and the quiet, fierce intelligence shining in her dark eyes.

"I see a mistake," Adrienne whispered, his voice dangerously low. "I see a cage I locked myself into because I thought it was what my family needed."

He reached up, his thumb lightly catching a stray curl of dark hair that had fallen across her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His touch was warm, precise, and breathtakingly gentle for a man whose hands had ended dozens of lives.

"Adrienne..." Elena breathed, using his first name for the first time in years. Her heart was beating so hard she was certain he could hear it. "You can't touch me like this. Not tonight. Not here."

"I know," Adrienne said, but he didn't pull his hand away. His thumb rested against her cheekbone, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse. "If Victoria sees you—if her father’s men think you are a distraction—they will try to use you against me."

"I am careful," Elena whispered. "I know how to be invisible."

"You were never invisible to me, Elena," Adrienne said, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. "Not for a single day."

A sharp click of high heels echoing down the library corridor smashed the moment to pieces.

Adrienne instantly pulled his hand back, stepping deeper into the shadows near the ivy wall. Elena grabbed the heavy bus tub of champagne flutes, lifting it against her chest just as the french doors swung open.

Victoria Laurent stepped onto the terrace, wrapped in a white mink stole. Her icy blue eyes scanned the dark terrace, landing instantly on Elena.

"What are you doing out here?" Victoria demanded, her voice sharp and suspicious.

Elena bowed her head slightly, keeping her arms locked around the heavy tub. "Clearing the empty glasses from the outer tables, ma'am."

Victoria stepped closer, her heels clicking loudly against the wet stone. She looked past Elena into the shadows where Adrienne stood silently, his hand resting casually inside his jacket pocket.

"Adrienne?" Victoria asked, her voice instantly shifting from sharp hostility to a sweet, practiced purr. "Darling, what are you doing standing in the dark with the staff?"

Adrienne walked out of the shadows, his face completely smooth, cold, and emotionless—the terrifying Don restored in an instant.

"Getting some air," Adrienne said flatly, not even looking at Victoria. "The ballroom is suffocating."

Victoria’s eyes flicked back to Elena. Her gaze lingered on Elena’s flushed cheeks, the tray of glasses, and the slight tremor in Elena’s hands. A slow, toxic realization flickered behind Victoria’s eyes—a sharp, deadly spark of realization that made Elena’s blood run cold.

"Go back inside, maid," Victoria said softly, her voice dripping with poison. "And take the trash with you."