The Sommelier Shattered the Crime Boss’s Glass and Uncovered the Bride Who Had Planned His Funeral

*BANG.*

The concussive shockwave ripped through the narrow brick corridor, accompanied by a blinding flare of white light that scorched the darkness into oblivion.

Julian screamed in agony, blinded and disoriented, his weapon clattering across the wet stones.

Adrian was out from behind the barrel rack before the smoke could clear. He closed the twenty-foot distance in three long strides. Before Julian could draw his sidearm, Adrian drove his knee into the man's fractured shoulder, sending him crashing backward against the brick wall.

The impact drove the breath from Julian's lungs. Adrian’s pistol barrel pressed hard into the soft flesh beneath Julian's chin, forcing his head back until his spine arched against the damp brick.

"Call them off," Adrian whispered.

Julian gasped, blood trickling from his nose, his eyes wide and bloodshot from the flash. "Go to hell, Kessler. Livia is upstairs with Hector. You can't kill us all."

"I don't need to kill you all," Adrian said, his voice colder than the grave. "I just need to take your legs, drag you upstairs, and let your father see what kind of coward he raised."

Julian’s breath hitched. He knew Adrian wasn't bluffing. The Kessler name hadn't dominated the Great Lakes trade by being merciful to traitors.

"They're... they're gathering in the ballroom," Julian choked out, his arrogance crumbling beneath the steel pressed into his throat. "Hector brought the board members inside. They think you're dead. Livia told them you collapsed in the study from the secondary dose. They're preparing to sign the interim succession papers right now."

Adrian’s eyes flicked toward Mara, who was standing at the edge of the brick archway, clutching the black ledger against her chest.

"They think I'm dead," Adrian repeated slowly.

A dark, brilliant scheme took shape in the silence between them.

"Adrian?" Mara said, stepping closer. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking my fiancée planned a celebration," Adrian said, slowly lowering the pistol from Julian's throat, though his eyes never left the wounded man. "It would be terribly rude of the groom not to attend."

He looked at Julian. "Get up."

Julian groaned, clutching his shattered shoulder as Adrian hauled him to his feet by his tactical vest.

"Jonah!" Adrian called into the tunnel behind them.

From the shadows of the southern corridor, Jonah Pike emerged, followed by four heavily armed security enforcers wearing black tactical gear. Jonah had a bandage taped across his forehead and a smoldering cigar clamped between his teeth, but his gaze was clear and lethal.

"Carriage house is secure, boss," Jonah reported, eyeing the captured Julian with grim satisfaction. "We neutralized six of their shooters. The rest threw down their guns when they realized Julian wasn't answering the radio."

"Good," Adrian said, tossing Julian toward Jonah’s men like a sack of spoiled grain. "Tie him up. Strip his comms. Then I want you to bring four men to the service entrance behind the ballroom orchestra pit."

Jonah raised an eyebrow. "You're going back into the ballroom?"

"My bride is waiting," Adrian said, turning his gaze to Mara. "And she expects a performance."

Mara looked down at her ruined uniform, soaked in vintage Port, her hair tangled with dust and plaster. She looked at Adrian, whose white shirt was covered in wine and soot, his jaw set with lethal purpose.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked.

Adrian walked over to her. He reached out and gently brushed a streak of brick dust from her temple. His touch was electric, sending a sharp, warm shiver through the exhaustion settling into her bones.