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

The drive back to the Berkshire estate should have been a victory lap, but the tension inside the reinforced Maybach was thick enough to choke on.

Adelaide sat in the plush leather backseat, looking out into the pitch-black highway as rain turned into sleet, smacking violently against the bulletproof windows. Mateo sat beside her, his tie loosened, a secure tablet resting on his lap as he monitored the financial collapse of Jones Financial in real time.

Within two hours of leaving the gala, four major investment banks had recalled their loans. Rockford Jones’s personal accounts were frozen by federal injunctions. The empire of lies was collapsing faster than an avalanche.

“You’re quiet,” Mateo remarked, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

Adelaide turned from the window. “I’m waiting for the second shoe to drop.”

Mateo tilted his head, studying her. “Explain.”

“My father is a coward, but he isn't brave enough to steal fifteen million dollars from you on his own,” she said, her analytical mind piecing the puzzle together. “Rockford always needed someone else to hold his hand. When he cheated on my mother with Evelyn, Evelyn was the one who planned the divorce proceedings. Rockford doesn't make aggressive moves unless someone is backing him up with steel.”

A faint shadow of respect crossed Mateo’s features. He leaned back against the headrest. “You're as sharp as a razor, Adelaide. You’re right. Rockford wasn't working alone. The offshore account—Mariposa Holdings—was co-signed by an umbrella syndicate out of New York. The Russo family.”

Adelaide stiffened. Even someone sheltered in the archives of a financial firm knew that name. The Russo family was the Moretti syndicate’s fiercest rival, a brutal, old-school faction that had been trying to seize control of the Boston docks for a decade.

“If the Russos were backing him,” Adelaide began, “then sending me to you wasn't just about clearing a debt. It was—”

Suddenly, the front passenger window of their escort SUV, driving fifty yards ahead, exploded in a shower of sparks and shattered safety glass.

*BAM! BAM! BAM!*

The sharp, concussive crack of heavy-caliber rifle fire ripped through the freezing night. The lead SUV swerved violently across the icy asphalt, its tires shredding as it slammed into the concrete highway divider, bursting into flames.

“Down!” Mateo roared.

Before Adelaide could scream, Mateo’s large hand clamped around the back of her neck, shoving her down onto the floorboards between the seats. He threw his own body over hers, forming a human shield of solid muscle and heavy Kevlar-lined wool as bullets began hammering the side of their Maybach like hail.

*CLANG! CLANG! THUD!*

The reinforced windows spiderwebbed, holding against the onslaught of lead. The driver, a seasoned soldier named Marco, swore viciously in Italian, slamming his foot on the accelerator.

“Two black pickups on our flank, Don Mateo!” Marco yelled over the deafening noise. “They’ve blocked the Berkshire exit! We’re boxed in!”

“Ram through the shoulder,” Mateo ordered, his voice cold, steady, and devoid of panic. He reached beneath his armpit, unholstering a sleek, custom black automatic, racking the slide with a clean, lethal click. He looked down at Adelaide, pinned beneath him.

Her heart was thundering against her ribs, but she wasn't crying. Her pupils were wide with adrenaline, her breathing fast and controlled.

“Are you hit?” he demanded.

“No,” she gasped. “Mateo—the tablet!”

He glanced down. The tablet was still glowing on the leather seat above them.

“The GPS routing!” Adelaide yelled over the gunfire. “The Berkshire pass has an old service road behind the timber mill three miles south! The bridge is rated for twelve tons, but the road is blocked by an automated security gate tied to the state logging grid!”

Mateo grabbed the tablet, thrusting it into her hands. “Can you open it?”

“I wrote the financial software for the Massachusetts Department of Forestry’s infrastructure bond three years ago!” Adelaide’s fingers flew across the glass screen, her hands miraculously steady despite the vehicle violently swerving as another volley of bullets shattered the rear taillights. “The bypass code is standard state protocol! Marco, take the left exit onto Route 9! Cut through the ditch!”

“Do it!” Mateo commanded the driver.

Marco jerked the steering wheel hard to the left. The heavy Maybach slammed through the highway snowbank, bouncing violently as it tore across an open field toward a line of dark pine trees. Behind them, the two pursuit trucks struggled to follow, their lighter chassis losing traction in the deep, icy mud.

Adelaide bypassed two layers of municipal firewalls, typing with lightning speed. “Override confirmed! Gate three is opening now!”

Ahead in the dark, a massive steel gate slid open into the snowy tree line. Marco gunned the engine, tearing through the gap just as a spray of rifle fire pinged off the rear bumper.

“Close it!” Mateo shouted.

Adelaide hit the command key. The heavy steel gate ground shut behind them, slamming into place with a definitive mechanical lock. A second later, the front grille of the lead pursuer slammed headfirst into the reinforced steel at fifty miles an hour, exploding into a crumpled wreck of smoking metal and steam.

Silence fell inside the car, broken only by the heavy breathing of the three survivors and the rhythmic wiping of the windshield blades against the falling sleet.

Mateo slowly shifted his weight, sitting back up on the leather seat. He tucked his gun back into his holster, his dark hair disheveled, a streak of carbon and sweat marking his forehead.

He reached down and lifted Adelaide back up onto the seat beside him.

Her emerald gown was torn at the hem, her hair tangled, and a small smudge of road dust marked her cheek. But as she looked at him, clutching the glowing tablet to her chest, her hazel eyes were burning with an undeniable, fierce fire.

Mateo stared at her in the dim interior light of the car. His breathing was heavy, not from fear, but from an overwhelming surge of raw, primal realization.

“You saved my life,” he said, his voice quiet, stripped of all arrogance.

Adelaide swallowed, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her scarred temple.

“You told me I was your partner,” she replied, her voice remarkably steady. “I don't let my partners get killed on the highway.”

Mateo didn't speak. He reached out, his large hand cupping the side of her face, his thumb stroking gently over the jagged line of her scar. Then, with a sudden, breathless intensity, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his.

The kiss was fierce, hot, and electric with survival. Adelaide gasped into his mouth, but she didn't pull away. She grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo, pulling him closer, melting into the heat and power of the only man who had ever made her feel invincible.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his dark eyes were burning with an obsidian flame.