She Was Supposed to Last One Week—Instead, the Chubby Maid Turned the Mafia Boss’s World Upside Down

The morning brought a false sense of security.

With the debts cleared and Salem’s declaration hanging between them like a sacred promise, the Falcone mansion felt transformed. Greta hummed loudly in the kitchen, cooking three times the usual amount of food, while Frank wore an expression that was unmistakably a genuine smile.

Mattie was in the conservatory, watering the orchids, when the house phone rang.

Frank answered it, his face suddenly tightening into stone. He walked quickly to Salem’s study. Mattie, sensing danger, followed close behind.

"What is it, Frank?" Salem asked, looking up from a ledger.

"It’s Victor Vance," Frank said grimly. "He’s holed up in an abandoned industrial warehouse by the Calumet River. He claims he has the ledgers—the original federal black books that my father kept. If those books hit the FBI, the entire Falcone network will be dismantled within forty-eight hours."

Salem rose from his desk, his face returning to the terrifying, remorseless mask of the Don. "He wants an exchange."

"He wants you, Salem. Alone. At noon today."

"No!" Mattie cried out, stepping forward into the study. "Salem, it’s a trap! Victor knows he can't beat you in the open. He’s luring you to ground he controls!"

Salem looked at her, his eyes softening for a split second before hardening into resolved iron. "I know it’s a trap, little bird. But those books cannot leave that warehouse. If they do, everyone in this house—Frank, Greta, and you—will be dragged into federal prison."

He walked to the weapons vault behind the bookshelf, pulling out twin customized semi-automatics and checking the chambers with chilling efficiency.

"I am going with my tactical unit," Salem told her, strapping the leather holsters beneath his coat. "We hit the perimeter first. Frank will stay here with twenty men to guard the house. You do not leave this estate, Mattie. Promise me."

Mattie grabbed his lapels, pulling him down until their eyes were level. "Come back to me in one piece, Salem Falcone. If I have to sew you up a third time, I’m using dental floss."

Salem let out a dark, rich chuckle and crushed his lips against hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. "I’ll be back for dinner."

He left with thirty armored vehicles, the roar of engines fading down the long marble drive.

An hour passed. Then two.

The mansion was eerily quiet. Mattie paced the grand foyer, her stomach churning with a sickening dread that would not abate. Something was wrong. The plan was too obvious. Victor Vance was an opportunist, but he wasn't reckless.

Suddenly, the electricity cut out.

The grand crystal chandelier went black. The emergency backup generators sputtered and died before they could even kick in.