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

One month later.

The winter chill had finally begun to loosen its grip on the Berkshire Mountains, the morning mist rising from the pine valleys like sweet incense under a pale gold sunrise.

Adelaide stood on the stone balcony of the master suite, wrapped in a plush cream-colored cashmere robe. In her hands, she held a warm porcelain mug of coffee, watching the dawn break over the vast Moretti estate.

Everything had changed, yet she had never felt more anchored.

Rockford Jones was currently awaiting trial in a maximum-security state facility, his bail denied, his name erased from every social register in New England. Evelyn and Chloe had fled the state in disgrace, living in a cramped two-bedroom rental outside of Philadelphia, working minimum-wage retail jobs while ducking debt collectors who hounded them day and night.

The family that had treated Adelaide like garbage had been reduced to dust.

And Adelaide?

She reached up, her fingers tracing the jagged line of the pale scar on her left cheek. She no longer looked in mirrors with dread. She had discarded her heavy, hiding glasses forever. The scar was no longer a symbol of grief, of a mother lost in twisted metal; it was the mark of a survivor. It was the crown she had earned in blood and fire.

Two strong, warm arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against a broad, solid chest. Mateo rested his chin on the crown of her head, his heartbeat steady and strong against her back.

“You’re up early,” he murmured, his voice rich with morning warmth.

“I was thinking,” she replied, leaning into his embrace.

“Dangerous habit for a financial genius,” he teased lightly, pressing a soft kiss behind her ear, making a delicious shiver run down her spine. “What were you thinking about?”

“About how different my life could have been,” she said softly, turning in his arms to face him. She looked up into the dark, breathtaking face of the man who had seen her soul when everyone else saw a ruin. “If you hadn't demanded a daughter. If they hadn't sent me to be slaughtered.”

Mateo’s expression softened into something intensely, fiercely tender. He reached up, his thumb lightly stroking over her scar, just as he had done on the very first night she walked into his study.

“You were never meant to be slaughtered, Adelaide,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, passionate vow. “You were meant to rule. With me. Beside me.”

He leaned down and kissed her, a deep, slow, intoxicating promise of a future forged in diamond and steel. Adelaide wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking into his warmth, feeling a profound sense of peace settle over her heart for the first time in her twenty-four years.

A sharp, discreet knock on the balcony doors broke the moment.

Mateo pulled back slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his brow, but he kept his arm securely around Adelaide’s waist. “Enter.”

Marco stepped out onto the terrace. The lieutenant’s face was completely drained of color, his posture rigid. In his hand, he held a sleek, titanium briefcase marked with an unfamiliar wax seal—a black double-headed eagle.

“Don Mateo. Signora,” Marco said, his voice tightly controlled. “This was just intercepted at the private airfield. Hand-delivered by a courier from Geneva.”

Mateo’s eyes narrowed instantly. “From whom?”

“It was addressed specifically to Mrs. Moretti,” Marco said, stepping forward and placing the briefcase on the outdoor stone table. “And Don Mateo... the security trace confirmed the sender’s bank code.”

Adelaide felt a sudden, inexplicable chill prickle the back of her neck. “Whose code?”

“Eleanor Jones,” Marco whispered.

The air on the balcony turned instantly to ice.

Adelaide froze. Her breath caught violently in her throat, her hazel eyes locking onto the briefcase. “That’s... that’s impossible. My mother died fifteen years ago. I watched her drown in the river.”

“The fingerprint lock on the case was programmed twenty-four hours ago in Switzerland,” Marco continued, his voice trembling slightly. “And the DNA key matches the maternal line. Yours, Signora.”

Mateo didn't move, his protective grip on Adelaide tightening to iron as his dark eyes surveyed the metal case. The world seemed to stop spinning, hanging suspended on the edge of a precipice.

Slowly, Adelaide stepped away from Mateo’s warmth, walking toward the stone table as if moving through a dream. Her trembling hand hovered over the biometric scanner on the lock.

Was Eleanor Jones really dead?

Had Rockford’s murder plot failed? Or had her mother been playing a much deeper, deadlier game that spanned across continents, waiting fifteen years for her scarred daughter to claim the Moretti throne?

Adelaide looked at Mateo. His dark eyes were fixed on her, ready for whatever war was about to begin.

Adelaide pressed her thumb against the cold glass scanner.