Adeline woke up in a bed larger than the entire studio apartment she used to rent. The sheets were high-thread-count silk, soft against her bandaged arms. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her new room on the penthouse floor of the Marchetti estate.
A light knock sounded at the door. Before she could answer, two female tailors stepped into the room carrying racks of elegant, high-end dresses, silk blouses, and tailored trousers.
“Mr. Marchetti’s orders, Miss Croft,” one of them said respectfully.
Adeline felt uncomfortable as they measured her, dressing her in a high-collared, emerald-green silk dress that completely concealed the bandages on her arms. It was luxurious, beautiful, and felt entirely like a uniform of a different kind. She was no longer a servant, but she was still captive in a golden cage.
When she descended the stairs to the private dining room, Enzo was already seated at the head of a long table, reading through financial ledgers while sipping black coffee. He looked up as she entered, his dark eyes lingering on her for a fraction of a second before returning to his neutral mask.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the seat at his right.
Adeline sat down cautiously. Servants—people who had been her peers yesterday—quietly set down a plate of fresh fruit, poached eggs, and coffee before her. They avoided her eyes, looking at her with a mixture of fear and envy.
“You look better,” Enzo noted without raising his eyes from his paperwork.
“I feel like an imposter, Mr. Marchetti,” Adeline said honestly. “Yesterday I was scrubbing your floors. Today I am wearing clothes that cost more than my father earned in a year.”
“Power is an illusion, Adeline,” Enzo said, closing his ledger with a soft snap. “Yesterday you were a maid because you let people treat you like one. Today you are sitting at my table because you showed you have a spine. Do not apologize for surviving.”
Before she could process his words, Luca stepped into the dining room, his expression tense.
“Boss, Arthur Ashford is downstairs in the courtyard,” Luca reported. “He brought six armed men with him. He’s demanding to see you. He says the Morettis are already moving in on his shipping territory now that your alliance is broken.”
Enzo didn’t look flustered. He calmly picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. “Arthur always was a weak strategist. He relies on noise because he has no teeth.”
“Should we shoot them?” Luca asked casually.
“No,” Enzo said, rising from the table. He looked at Adeline. “Come with me.”
—¿Yo? —exclamó Adeline, sin aliento—. Señor, Arthur Ashford me odia. Si me ve…
—Si te ve, comprenderá que mis decisiones son absolutas —dijo Enzo con frialdad, extendiéndole el brazo—. Ahora estás conmigo, Adeline. Nadie en esta ciudad toca lo que me pertenece.
Adeline vaciló un instante y luego colocó su mano vendada sobre su antebrazo. Sus músculos se sentían como acero macizo bajo la fina tela de su traje.
Salieron al gran balcón de mármol con vistas al patio delantero. Abajo, Arthur Ashford estaba de pie junto a un sedán negro, flanqueado por seis fornidos guardias que portaban pesadas pistolas ocultas en sus chaquetas. Su rostro estaba enrojecido de furia mientras miraba hacia el balcón.
—¡Marchetti! —gritó Arthur—. ¡Has deshonrado a mi hija! ¡Has arruinado nuestro contrato por una sucia sirvienta!
Enzo se apoyó en la barandilla de piedra, mirando al anciano con frío desdén. «Te has deshonrado, Arthur. Trajiste a un niño malcriado a mi casa y pensaste que cambiaría mi honor por tus muelles podridos».
—¡Los Moretti están quemando mis almacenes! —gritó Arthur con la voz quebrada—. ¡Sin tu protección, estamos perdidos! ¡Restablece el compromiso o, te juro por Dios, quemaré todos los cargamentos que lleguen por el río Chicago!
Enzo soltó una risita, un sonido bajo y aterrador que hizo que el aire se sintiera repentinamente frío.
— ¿Me amenazas en mi propia puerta, Arthur? —preguntó Enzo en voz baja.
Con un movimiento rápido y elegante, Enzo sacó un revólver plateado y reluciente de su funda de hombro. Sin dudarlo, apuntó hacia el patio y presionó el gatillo dos veces.
¡BANG! ¡BANG!
Las balas impactaron en el pavimento a un centímetro de los zapatos de Arthur Ashford, haciendo que fragmentos de hormigón salieran disparados por los aires. Arthur gritó, retrocedió de un salto y cayó de rodillas sobre la grava. Sus seis guardaespaldas sacaron sus armas al instante, pero antes de que pudieran desenfundarlas, cincuenta hombres armados aparecieron en los tejados y balcones de la finca Marchetti, apuntándoles con fusiles automáticos.
El patio quedó en completo silencio.
—La próxima vez apuntaré un poco más arriba —dijo Enzo con calma, guardando la pistola en su abrigo—. Sal de Chicago esta noche, Arthur. Si te veo mañana en esta ciudad, te entregaré personalmente tus muelles a los Moretti.
Arthur, aterrorizado, volvió a un metro en su coche, y su chófer salió disparado a través de las puertas de hierro, dejando tras de sí una nube de polvo.
Enzo se volvió hacia Adeline. Ella lo miraba fijamente, con el corazón latiéndole con fuerza en el pecho.
—¿Tienes miedo? —preguntó Enzo, bajando la voz a un suave susurro.
