The Mafia Boss Was Declared Dead While His Men Divided His Empire, but the Maid They Mocked Kept His Heart Beating Until Dawn

The grand ballroom of the Chicago Athletic Association was a sea of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and expensive silk.

Carmine Russo stood at the center of the room, wearing a custom white tuxedo, a glass of vintage champagne in his hand. He was surrounded by his captains and the heads of the rival families, basking in the glow of his newfound power.

"To the new era," Carmine raised his glass, his smile smug and wide. "An era of prosperity, strength, and—"

The massive double doors of the ballroom swung open with a heavy, echoing thud.

The music stopped. The laughter died in a hundred throats.

Standing at the threshold was a ghost.

Gabriel Falcone stood tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his dark hair combed back, his smoke-gray eyes scanning the crowd with a terrifying, absolute calm.

For a long, breathless moment, no one moved. The silence in the room was so thick it was suffocating.

"G-Gabe?" Carmine’s glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the polished marble floor. His face went entirely white, his eyes bulging in sheer terror. "You're... you're dead. I saw the sheet. I saw the report!"

"You always did believe what was convenient, Carmine," Gabriel’s voice rumbled through the ballroom, carrying a weight that made every man in the room instinctually lower their gaze.

From the shadows behind the pillars, a dozen armed men stepped out. But they weren't pointing their weapons at Gabriel. They were pointing them at Carmine and his personal guards.

Leo had done his job well. The loyalists had been waiting for the signal.

"This is a coup!" Carmine screamed, backing away toward the stage, his hands shaking. "Shoot him! Someone shoot him!"

But none of his men moved. They looked at Gabriel, then at their own weapons, and realized the truth: the king had returned, and his shadow was larger than ever.

Suddenly, Carmine pulled a small, silver pistol from his tuxedo pocket, aiming it directly at Gabriel's chest.

"If you're not dead," Carmine snarled, his eyes wild with desperate madness, "I'll make sure of it now!"

Before he could pull the trigger, a solid, unstoppable force crashed into him from the side.

It was Matilda.

Dressed in her magnificent midnight-blue gown, she had slipped through the crowd unnoticed, her quiet way of moving making her completely invisible to the arrogant men in the room. She grabbed Carmine’s wrist with both of her strong hands, twisting it with the immense strength she had developed from years of heavy labor.

The pistol clattered to the floor.

Matilda drove her elbow into Carmine's chest, sending him sprawling backward onto the stage, gasping for air.

The crowd gasped in shock.