Send the Ugly One, He'll Reject Her! They Laughed — But the Mafia Boss Was Speechless!

The morning after the gala, the Boston financial district was in chaos.

Headlines across the business journals blared the news: *HOSTILE TAKEOVER AT JONES FINANCIAL: DONNA ADELAIDE JONES APPOINTED CHAIRWOMAN.* Society rags were even more sensational: *THE UGLY DUCKLING’S BLOODY REVENGE: HOW ADELAIDE JONES BROUGHT HER FAMILY TO ITS KNEES.*

Inside the corner penthouse office of Jones Financial—now scrubbed of Rockford’s antique decanters and reeking cigar smoke—Adelaide sat behind the broad mahogany desk.

She wore a charcoal pinstripe three-piece suit, her hair pinned back in an elegant twist, the gold-rimmed glasses resting on her nose. Stacked before her were the real ledgers, finally liberated from the encrypted servers she had cracked the night before.

The double doors opened. Mateo walked in, wearing a dark gray suit, accompanied by Dante.

“You’ve been here since five,” Mateo noted, walking over and placing a cup of hot espresso on her desk.

“There were forty-two off-ledger shell companies to dismantle before the markets opened at nine-thirty,” Adelaide said without looking up, though the small smile playing on her lips betrayed her pleasure at his arrival. “If I left them active, Rockford’s private creditors could have filed an involuntary Chapter 7 liquidation and seized the employee pension reserves.”

Mateo leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Two hours.”

“Unacceptable,” Mateo murmured, though his dark eyes gleamed with pride. “I gave you an empire, Adelaide, not an early grave.”

“You didn't give me this empire,” she countered, finally looking up and meeting his intense gaze. “I built the foundations of this firm while my father drank. You just gave me the crowbar to pry their hands off the wheel.”

Mateo’s low chuckle rumbled through the room. “Fair enough.”

Dante cleared his throat, stepping forward with an encrypted tablet. “Boss. We have a problem.”

Mateo’s demeanor instantly hardened. “What is it?”

“Rockford didn't go back to the Beacon Hill house after the gala,” Dante said. “Neither did Evelyn or Chloe. They checked into a private suite at the Harbor Hotel under false names, and Rockford made a call from a burner phone at two in the morning.”

“To whom?” Mateo demanded.

“Salvatore Valenti.”

The air in the office grew instantly frigid. Adelaide looked between the two men, recognizing the name. The Valenti family controlled the northern distribution hubs and had been locked in a cold war with the Morettis over territorial boundaries for nearly a decade.

“Rockford is desperate,” Adelaide said, piecing it together. “He knows the financial fraud will land him in federal prison for twenty-five years. He has no money left to flee the country. The only thing he has left to trade is...”

She stopped, her eyes widening.

“Me,” she realized. “Or access to your logistics networks.”

“Both,” Mateo said, his voice dropping into that chilling, lethal cadence. “Rockford promised Valenti the internal security codes to Pier 4 and Jones Financial’s offshore clearinghouses. In exchange, Valenti agreed to extract the Joneses to South America on a private freighter—on one condition.”

“What condition?” Adelaide asked, her throat tight.

Mateo looked at her, his obsidian eyes burning with a dark, territorial fire.

“Valenti wants Adelaide dead,” Mateo said flatly. “Valenti knows that as long as you control Jones Financial, I have a legitimate, legal chokehold on every financial institution in New England. If you die, the shares revert to Rockford by default of the original family trust before the merger finalizes. Rockford gets his money back, Valenti gets control of the port, and my alliance is severed.”

Adelaide didn't scream. She didn't faint. She took a slow, measured sip of her espresso, set the porcelain cup down with a soft click, and looked at the digital monitors.

“Then we set a trap,” she said.

Dante blinked, clearly startled by her lack of panic. Mateo, however, slowly grinned.

“Go on,” Mateo said softly.

“Rockford doesn't know I already purged the Pier 4 access codes at midnight,” Adelaide explained, tapping the keyboard. “The codes he gave Valenti are three hours away from being flagged as obsolete. But if I reactivate them on a quarantined server, Valenti’s men will think the back door is wide open.”

She turned the monitor toward Mateo.

“They will strike where they think I am most vulnerable. Tomorrow afternoon, I am scheduled to inspect the historical deed archives at the Boston Public Library to finalize the transfer of the Beacon Hill property. It’s an open, public building with multiple blind exits. If Rockford knows my schedule, Valenti will send a hit team there.”

“No,” Mateo said instantly, the grin vanishing, replaced by iron resistance. “I am not using you as bait.”

“I’m not bait, Mateo,” Adelaide said, standing up and closing the distance between them. She reached out and touched his lapel, her fingers resting against the heavy fabric. “I am the architect. Valenti thinks I am a timid girl in heavy glasses who was thrown away by her family. He thinks I am weak. Let him walk into the room thinking he has an easy target.”

Mateo stared down at her, his jaw working. His hand came up, cupping the side of her neck, his thumb resting right over her accelerating pulse.

“If a single hair on your head is harmed, Adelaide, I will burn this city from the harbor to the Charles River.”