The Mafia King Faked His Bankruptcy to Test His Fiancée—But the Maid Everyone Ignored Found the Poison Meant to Kill Him

By 2:00 A.M., the mansion was quiet again.

The police cars had cleared from the gates, the press had fled after getting their photos of Evelyn Kensington being dragged away in tears, and the household staff had been sent to their quarters with double bonuses for their silence.

Beatrice stood in the main kitchen, washing her hands at the sink. The adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours was finally fading, leaving her body heavy with exhaustion.

A tall shadow fell over the doorway.

Vincenzo walked in, removing his suit jacket and tossing it onto a chair. He walked over to the counter, picked up a clean glass, and poured two measures of amber liquid from a crystal decanter.

He handed one glass to Beatrice.

“I don't drink alcohol, Mr. Costa,” Beatrice said softly.

“It’s apple cider, Beatrice,” Vincenzo said, a faint, genuine smile gracing his lips. “Drink with me. We survived tonight.”

Beatrice took the glass. Their fingers brushed briefly, a warm spark rising between them in the quiet kitchen.

“What happens to the house now?” Beatrice asked, taking a small sip.

“The house stays,” Vincenzo said, leaning against the counter beside her. “The fake bankruptcy is over. Tomorrow morning, my accounts will be fully restored, and the Rossi syndicate will be completely liquidated by the state.”