The Mafia Boss Found His Maid Hiding a Broken Arm—By Morning, Fifteen Men Were Gone

The morning sun rose over the Chicago skyline, casting a golden hue across the immaculate glass facade of the Blackwell headquarters. I sat in a plush, cream-colored armchair in the medical suite on the twentieth floor, my right arm resting comfortably in a lightweight orthopedic cast. The throbbing pain had faded to a dull ache, thanks to the expert care of Dr. Vance, who had treated me with the utmost reverence after receiving a direct, personal text message from Damon himself. The door swung open, and Damon walked in. He had changed out of his tuxedo into a charcoal-gray three-piece suit, his silver-streaked hair neatly combed, looking as if he hadn't spent the entire night dismantling a political dynasty. He held a steaming cup of chamomile tea in one hand, which he set gently on the glass side table next to me. "How is the arm?" he asked, taking a seat opposite me. "Much better," I murmured, looking up at him with a mixture of awe and lingering apprehension. "Dr. Vance said the fracture was clean and will heal completely in six weeks." "Good." Damon crossed his legs, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. "Because your new duties begin today. And I expect my executive assistant to be operating at full capacity." I blinked, the reality of what happened last night crashing back into my mind. "Mr. Blackwell... what happened to Preston? And the men?" Damon took a slow sip of his own coffee, his eyes steady and unreadable. "Preston Caldwell is currently taking a mandatory, highly educational trip to a remote monastery in the Swiss Alps, where he will spend the next three years reflecting on the value of human dignity. As for the fifteen men who stood guard at his father's estate..." He paused, a faint, humorless smile touching the corner of his lips. "Let us just say they found more lucrative employment opportunities outside of the state." I stared at him, realizing the sheer, terrifying magnitude of his reach. In less than eight hours, he had erased an entire security force and exiled a senator's son without firing a single shot that the police could ever trace. "Why?" I whispered. "Why do all this for a maid?" Damon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his piercing gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "You were never just a maid, Kate. And nobody touches what belongs to me."