Twenty Surgeons Gave Up on the Mafia Boss Until His Poor Maid Found the Black Stitch That Was Killing Him

With the traitors captured and the poison removed from his body, Gabriel’s recovery was astonishingly fast.

Within two weeks, the deep surgical incision on his shoulder had begun to heal cleanly under standard medical care. He was back to working eighteen hours a day, rebuilding his organization and preparing for the impending war with Dominic Thorne.

Through it all, Sadie remained at the Vale estate.

She was no longer a servant. Gabriel had hired a top-tier personal security team to guard her, moving her into a luxurious suite on the executive wing, right across the hall from his own master bedroom.

He bought her expensive clothes, had gourmet meals prepared for her, and insisted she sit beside him during morning breakfasts overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

To the outside world, Sadie Brooks had suddenly become the most important person in Gabriel Vale’s life—and the most dangerous target for his enemies.

One evening, as rain lashed against the tall library windows, Sadie sat near the fireplace reading a book.

Gabriel walked into the room, wearing a simple black turtleneck sweater and trousers, holding two glasses of amber whiskey. He walked over and handed one glass to her.

"I don't drink whiskey, Mr. Vale," Sadie said softly, offering a faint smile.

"It's ginger ale," Gabriel replied, sitting down in the leather armchair across from her. He took a sip of his own drink, watching her through the firelight. "And you can stop calling me Mr. Vale. It's Gabriel."

Sadie looked down at her glass, swirling the ice cubes. "It feels strange, Gabriel. A month ago, I was sweeping blood off this floor. Now I'm drinking ginger ale in silk clothes."

"You earned every thread of those clothes, Sadie," Gabriel said softly, his voice dropping into an intimate, warm tone. "In my life, people only stick around when they want something from me. Money, power, protection, fear. You saved my life simply because you saw something wrong and wanted to fix it."

Sadie looked up, meeting his intense gray-green gaze. "My mother always told me that if you have the power to fix a broken thing and you choose to do nothing, you are responsible for the damage."

Gabriel stared at her, a profound look of respect and deep affection shining in his eyes.

"Your mother was a wise woman," Gabriel whispered.

He set his glass down, stood up, and walked over to her sofa. He sat down beside her, his tall, imposing body sitting uncomfortably close to hers. The subtle scent of dark wood, rain, and expensive cologne drifted off him, making Sadie’s heart skip a beat.

Gabriel reached out his good right hand, his calloused fingers gently tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"You shouldn't be here, Sadie," Gabriel murmured softly, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. "My world is dark, violent, and dangerous. Dominic Thorne is going to bring fire to Port Alder before this war is over. I should buy you a house in Europe and send you away where no one can hurt you."

Sadie leaned slightly into his hand, surprised by how safe she felt in the presence of the most dangerous man in New Jersey.

"If you send me away, who's going to check your stitches when you get hurt again?" Sadie asked gently, a small, brave smile touching her lips.

Gabriel let out a low, breathless laugh, his eyes darkening with intense emotion. "You are far too brave for your own good, Sadie Brooks."

He leaned down slowly, his face inches from hers. Sadie’s breath caught in her throat as she closed her eyes, anticipating the soft touch of his lips.

BANG!

A massive explosion rattled the entire mansion.

The glass windows of the library shattered inward in a shower of sharp crystal. High-caliber gunfire erupted from the driveway outside, accompanied by the panicked screams of guards and the roar of heavy truck engines.

Gabriel reacted instantly.

Before the shattered glass even hit the floor, Gabriel tackled Sadie off the sofa, covering her body with his own as heavy automatic rifle rounds slammed into the mahogany bookshelves above their heads, tearing books into confetti.