The Mafia Boss Walked In While His Fiancée Whipped the Plus-Size Maid, and Every Guest Knew the Engagement Was Already Over

Victor Hale’s red face turned a dangerous shade of purple. Vivian looked as though she had been slapped.

“She’s a maid!” Vivian shrieked, unable to contain herself. “Look at her! She’s a fat, common little nobody! She doesn't belong in this room, Ronan! She belongs in the kitchen washing my grease off the plates!”

Before Ronan could even speak, Ivy leaned forward, resting her elbows on the polished mahogany table. She looked Vivian dead in the eye, her voice calm, measured, and entirely devoid of fear.

“Miss Hale,” Ivy said, her tone smooth as silk, “if I belonged in the kitchen, your father wouldn't have spent the last three days trying to hide the fact that his shipping company is twelve million dollars in debt to New Jersey logistics.”

Victor Hale froze. “What did you say?”

Ivy casually pulled a sheet of paper from her leather portfolio and slid it across the table toward the other syndicate bosses.

“In section four of the Harbor Alliance Agreement,” Ivy explained, speaking with the authority of a seasoned corporate lawyer, “any member who leases dock space to an unsanctioned out-of-state entity without council approval forfeits their voting rights and their protection under the Blackwood Charter. Mr. Hale has been doing exactly that for eight months to pay off his daughter’s extravagant credit card bills in Paris.”

The other four syndicate bosses immediately picked up the documents, their eyes widening as they scanned the evidence Ivy had meticulously compiled.

“Is this true, Victor?” one of the older bosses, an Italian man named Don Falcone, growled. “You’ve been bringing New Jersey muscle onto our docks behind our backs?”

“It’s a lie! She forged that!” Victor shouted, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “She’s trying to destroy my family!”

“The bank records are verified by Blackwood Holdings, Victor,” Ronan said, his voice dripping with icy distain. “You wanted to threaten me with a strike today to force me to marry your daughter. Instead, you have stripped yourself of your own seat at this table.”

Ronan stepped around Ivy’s chair and placed a hand on her shoulder. The heat of his hand seeped through her silk dress, anchoring her.

“Effective immediately,” Ronan announced to the room, “the Hale family’s shipping territory is revoked. Fifty percent will be redistributed to Don Falcone, and the remaining fifty percent will be managed directly by Blackwood Holdings—under the personal supervision of Miss Ivy Lancaster.”

Vivian gasped, grabbing her father’s arm. “Dad! Do something! He’s giving our company to her!”

Victor looked up at Ronan, his eyes filled with pure hatred. “You think you can do this, Blackwood? You think you can strip my family of our power for a thick-waisted little tart? There are people in this city who won't stand for this!”

Ronan leaned down until his face was inches from Victor’s.

“Try me, Victor,” Ronan whispered, a terrifying promise in his dark eyes. “Send every hitman you have. Build an army. But if I see you or your pathetic daughter near Ivy again, I won't just take your docks. I’ll take your lives. Now get out of my sight.”

Victor and Vivian had no choice. Surrounded by the cold, hostile glares of the other syndicate bosses and Ronan’s armed guards, they gathered their things and slunk out of the private dining room like beaten dogs.

When the heavy doors closed behind them, Don Falcone raised his glass toward Ivy, a look of profound respect on his weathered face.

“To the new mind behind Blackwood Holdings,” Falcone said. “You’ve got guts, young lady. And a damn fine eye for numbers.”

Ivy smiled politely, raising her glass of water. “Thank you, Don Falcone.”

Throughout the rest of the meeting, Ronan never moved far from Ivy. Whenever she spoke, he listened with rapt attention. Whenever she needed a document, he handed it to her. For the first time in her life, Ivy wasn't being judged by her weight, her clothes, or her background. She was being seen for her mind, her strength, and her beauty—by the most powerful man in the city.

When they finally returned to the SUV late that afternoon, the adrenaline of the meeting began to fade, leaving Ivy exhausted.

She leaned her head back against the leather seat, closing her eyes.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around her waist. Before she could react, Ronan gently pulled her across the seat and lifted her onto his lap.

“Ronan!” Ivy gasped, her hands instinctively resting against his broad chest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m holding the woman who just saved my shipping empire twelve million dollars,” Ronan murmured, his dark eyes burning with an intense, unbridled passion. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her heavy hips flush against his thighs. “You were incredible today, Ivy.”

Ivy felt her face flush hot. “I was just doing my job.”

“No,” Ronan said, lifting a hand to run his fingers through her soft brown hair, pulling out the pins until it fell in dark waves over her shoulders. “You were showing them who you are. And God help me, Ivy... I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Before she could speak, Ronan pulled her down and kissed her.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep, possessive, and filled with a desperate hunger that made Ivy’s head spin. She moaned softly against his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck as she buried her fingers in his dark hair. She felt his hands move down her back, gripping her full hips with a fierce tenderness that made her feel cherished, desired, and completely consumed.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of them were breathing heavily.