They called Elena worthless because she couldn’t have children, but when Chicago’s feared widowed mafia boss asked her to save his family, nobody understood why he chose her.

The tension in the dining room during dinner could have cut glass. Clara sat rigid in her chair, glaring at Elena with undisguised hatred, while Mateo drank his Barolo wine far too fast, his eyes darting angrily toward Adrian.

“You’re letting a stray cat run the household, Adrian,” Mateo finally spat out, slamming his wine glass down onto the table enough to make the crystal ring. “A woman who can’t even bear children—a barren placeholder you dragged in off the street to mock the traditions of our family. What kind of king are you becoming?”

The air in the room instantly turned to liquid ice.

Before Adrian could rise from his seat—before the lethal violence simmering beneath his skin could explode—Elena set her fork down with a soft, deliberate clink.

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't flinch. She simply looked across the table straight at Mateo.

“Mateo,” Elena said, her tone dripping with calm mockery. “It’s always the men with the smallest influence in the syndicate who scream the loudest about tradition. Are you worried that a woman with no biological heirs has more backbone than your entire faction combined, or are you just upset because Adrian didn't invite you to sit at the grown-ups' table?”

Mateo slammed his hands on the table, standing up so fast his chair crashed backward onto the marble floor. “You little bitch—”

“Sit down, Mateo,” Adrian commanded.

It wasn't a shout. It was a low, terrifying growl that carried the absolute weight of a death sentence. Adrian slowly stood up, towering over his brother. His dark eyes were completely dead, devoid of any human warmth.

“You insult my wife in my home once more,” Adrian whispered, leaning across the table, “and I won't just throw you out of the syndicate. I’ll feed you to the inspectors at the South Chicago docks piece by piece. Do I make myself clear?”

Mateo swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. He backed away slowly, grabbing Clara’s arm. “This house is sick. You’re all insane.”

“Get out,” Adrian said.

Within two minutes, Mateo and Clara’s cars peeled out of the estate driveway, tearing up the gravel in their panic.

The dining hall fell back into a stunned, breathless silence. The children peeked down from the balcony overhead, wide-eyed and silent.

Adrian slowly sat back down, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He looked across the table at Elena, who was calmly cutting her roast beef as if nothing had happened. Her hands were barely even trembling.

“You didn't have to provoke him,” Adrian muttered, though there was a distinct note of admiration in his voice.

“I didn't provoke him. I educated him,” Elena corrected, taking a sip of water. She looked up, meeting his gaze. “And for the record, Mr. Bellandi, I am not a stray cat. If you’re going to keep me in your fortress, you might as well learn my title.”