His Fiancée Beat the New Maid in Front of Two Hundred Guests

The temperature in the penthouse seemed to drop ten degrees as Arthur Marchetti’s words hung in the air.

Enzo closed the distance between himself and his uncle in two long strides, placing his body physically between Arthur and Adeline. His broad shoulders blocked the old man’s view entirely, his jaw set so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.

“Say that again,” Enzo whispered, his voice vibrating with a lethal, quiet fury.

Arthur didn't flinch. He leaned slightly on his ivory cane, looking up at his nephew with a cold, mocking smile.

“Don't play the wounded lion with me, Enzo,” Arthur scoffed, gesturing vaguely toward the city lights outside. “You think because you cut out Camilla Ashford and funded a charity clinic on the West Side that you’ve somehow cleansed the family name? The syndicates in New York and Marseille don't care about your newfound morality. They care about shipping lanes. And right now, your new compliance officer is holding up thirty million dollars worth of unverified cargo sitting in the Port of Chicago because she flagged the customs manifests.”

Adeline stepped out from behind Enzo, her leather folio clutched firmly in her hand.

“I didn't just flag them, Mr. Marchetti,” Adeline said, stepping right up to the old man with absolute composure. “The cargo manifests list industrial machinery, but the container weights indicate high-density narcotics and unregistered firearms. If those containers clear customs, federal indictments will land on this desk within twenty-four hours.”

Arthur stared at her, his smile vanishing, replaced by a dark, venomous glare.

“You’re a clever girl, Adeline,” Arthur hissed, stepping closer. “Too clever for your own good. My grandfather built this family on blood and silence. People who ask too many questions tend to end up like your father—sleeping permanently in places they didn't choose.”

Before Arthur could finish the sentence, Enzo’s hand shot out, grabbing the lapel of the old man’s cashmere coat with enough force to lift his heels off the floor.

The two massive bodyguards behind Arthur immediately reached for their sidearms, but before their hands cleared leather, the private elevator doors chimed again, and Vance stepped out followed by four armed tactical operatives, their assault rifles leveled squarely at the guards' chests.

The room locked into a deadly, hair-trigger standoff.

Enzo leaned down until his face was inches from his uncle’s, his grey-blue eyes blazing with the cold fury of a winter storm.

“If you ever,” Enzo whispered, each word dropping like a lead weight, “mention Dr. Croft in this house again... if you ever so much as look at Adeline with anything less than absolute respect... I will personally revoke your pension, freeze your European accounts, and throw you into the federal penitentiary you spent forty years dodging.”

Arthur’s face turned a mottled shade of purple, gasping for breath against Enzo’s grip. For the first time in his life, the patriarch of the Marchetti syndicate realized he had pushed the apex predator too far.

Enzo held him suspended for another three seconds before shoving him backward into the arms of his bodyguards.

Arthur stumbled, catching his balance on his cane, coughing and adjusting his coat with shaking, wrinkled hands. He glared at Enzo with pure, unfiltered hatred.

“You’re a fool, Enzo,” Arthur wheezed, turning toward the elevator. “You think you can run an empire on truth and a West Side clinic? The wolves are already circling. And when they tear you apart, don't say I didn't warn you.”

The elevator doors slid shut, swallowing the old man and his guards into the dark descent.

Silence settled back over the penthouse.

Adeline exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She looked up at Enzo, whose chest was still heaving with leftover adrenaline, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“Enzo...” she started softly.

Enzo turned around, his stormy gaze meeting hers. Without a word, he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against his chest, burying his face in her dark hair.

“He’s right about one thing,” Enzo murmured against her temple, his voice thick with emotion. “The wolves are circling. They aren't going to stop.”