“Keep her.” Those were the two words I heard my mafia husband say about another woman on our fifth wedding anniversary,

The grand ballroom of the Palazzo Visconti was a spectacle of decadent cruelty.

Crystal chandeliers hung from gilded ceilings, casting diamond light across hundreds of Europe's most powerful underground figures. Diamonds sparkled, champagne flowed, and men in tailored bespoke suits whispered deals that decided the fates of nations.

At the raised dais at the end of the hall sat the three remaining elder triumvirs of the Obsidian Council.

"To the memory of the Hudson family," one elder sneered, raising his crystal goblet of vintage champagne. "May their ashes fertilize our new empire."

Before the glasses could touch, the massive double doors of the ballroom blew inward with an ear-splitting crack of shattered oak.

The music died instantly. Hundreds of guests froze in paralyzed silence as the heavy fog rolled across the polished marble floor.

Walking through the mist, arm in arm, were Adrien and Elena Hudson.

Adrien towered over the room, radiating an aura of lethal, aristocratic menace that suffocated the air in the ballroom. Beside him, Elena looked breathtaking—a dark goddess of war draped in emerald silk, her chin held high, her eyes radiating cold, absolute sovereignty.

"I apologize for our tardiness, gentlemen," Adrien’s baritone voice sliced through the ballroom like a broadsword. "The rumors of my demise were... greatly exaggerated."

Pandemonium erupted.

Several bodyguards reached for their jackets, but before a single weapon could clear leather, the high glass windows along the perimeter of the ballroom shattered. Lasers painted every Council member in a web of crimson dots. Mateo’s snipers were positioned on the surrounding rooftops.

Elena stepped forward, her voice ringing clear and melodious across the paralyzed crowd. "Anyone who draws a weapon dies where they stand. Anyone who kneels... may live long enough to pay us tribute."

The first elder of the Council stammered, his face turning the color of chalk. "Adrien... this is madness! You cannot wage war against the entire Council!"

"I am not waging war, old man," Adrien said, stepping onto the dais, his boots clicking like a death march. "I am executing a sentence."

With ruthless efficiency, Adrien drew his weapon and eliminated the three elders before the crowd could even scream. Panic surged, guests scrambled for the exits, but Adrien didn’t care about the sheep.

He looked at Elena, extending his hand. She took it, stepping onto the dais beside him, looking out over the conquered ballroom.