“You’re Not Blind, You’re Being Poisoned,” the Maid Whispered—Then the Mafia Boss Learned the Hand Filling His Glass Belonged to the Man He Trusted Most

The next month brought a peace that Boston hadn't seen in over ten years.

With Marcus Cole gone, Gideon consolidated power across the entire eastern seaboard. He dismantled the corrupt shipping kickbacks, handed over the alderman’s true murder files to the state authorities anonymously, and cleared Arthur Vance’s name posthumously. My father was awarded the State Medal of Honor for valor in forensic duty.

I had moved into the east wing of the estate. Gideon had offered to buy me a townhouse in the city, but whenever I talked about leaving, an unspoken tension filled the air between us.

We had dinners together in the great dining room—no poison, no secret tests. Just two scarred souls finding an unexpected anchor in the storm.

"You’re brooding tonight," I said, setting down my wine glass across from him.

Gideon looked up from his ledger. His eyes were completely restored, sharp as cut glass. "The Falcone family is hosting their annual winter gala at the Boston Harbor Hotel tomorrow night. Every family head will be there."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

"Trouble is always waiting at these tables," Gideon said, rising and walking over to my side of the table. He leaned down, placing his hands on the armrests of my chair, caging me gently within his presence. "I want you to come with me. Officially. As my partner."

My breath caught in my throat. "Gideon... if I walk into that room on your arm, everyone will know who I am. They’ll know I’m your weakness."

Gideon leaned closer, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver through my spine. "Let them think you're my weakness, Maya. They’ll soon find out you're the only reason I'm still alive to kill them all."