She Ignored Her Paralyzed Mafia Boss Fiancé—But The Maid Treated Him Like A King

The confrontation downstairs had exacted a heavy toll. By the time Vincent was back in his second-floor suite, his forearms were trembling from the exertion of maintaining his rigid, proud posture, and a deep, throbbing ache was spreading across his lower back.

He refused the painkillers Tessa offered, knocking the plastic bottle from her hand with a violent sweep of his arm. The small blue pills scattered across the hardwood floor like dropped beads.

"Get out," he snarled, his face turned toward the dark window. "Get out and leave me alone."

Tessa didn't move. She stood in the center of the room, looking down at the scattered medicine, then back at the back of his head. She didn't look angry; she didn't look frightened. She looked entirely, stubbornly patient.

"The floor is clean, Mr. Corvino," she said quietly, kneeling down to pick up the pills one by one. "But your attitude is making extra work for me. If you want to throw tantrums, do it with the woman who is trying to steal your company. I’m just the person who washes your shirts."

Vincent spun his chair around, his eyes flashing with an ancient, predatory rage. "You think you can speak to me like that because I’m stuck in this chair? I could have you removed from this house in ten minutes, Rossi!"

"You could," Tessa said, standing up and placing the bottle back on the nightstand. "But then who would bring you the real ledger files from the basement office? The ones Dominic didn't want you to see?"

Vincent froze. The rage in his chest was instantly replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. "What are you talking about?"

"My brother works the midnight shift at the family’s accounting office on Cicero Avenue," Tessa said, stepping closer to the chair, her voice dropping into a low whisper. "He saw Dominic’s personal driver collecting the old tax records from three years ago—the ones containing the names of the judges Vince used to pay directly. Dominic isn't trying to protect the family, sir. He’s trying to see which of your friends he can buy before he takes your seat."

Before Vincent could answer, the door to the suite opened with a sharp click. Arya stood in the doorway, her fur coat draped over her arm, a packed leather suitcase sitting in the hallway behind her.

"I’m leaving for the lake house for a few weeks, Vincent," she said, her voice completely devoid of emotion as she looked at him. "The tension in this house is becoming ridiculous. Dominic will handle the weekly operations. When you are ready to be sensible about the paperwork, you can have your... maid call my assistant."

She looked at Tessa, her eyes narrowing with a brief, aristocratic disdain. "Make sure his blankets are changed regularly, girl. He gets cold easily now that he doesn't move."

Vincent didn't look at her. He didn't say goodbye. He waited until the sound of her expensive heels faded down the long hallway, followed by the distant slam of the front door.

The silence that returned to the room was heavy, but it was no longer the silence of defeat. It was the silence before an ambush.

"Tessa," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a dark, resolute register.