No need to recount the final confrontation. Enoch's men had been Mr. Boss's plants all along. There was nothing left to fight for.
While the outside world praised Mr. Boss's brilliance, what took root beneath the headlines was fear.
If someone like Enoch could fall, who was safe? Lifelong allies, trusted men—all suddenly felt replaceable. It wasn't territory or riches that proved Sebastian's victory.
It was himself. Mr. Boss had become the conquest. A legend carved deeper into the underworld's bones.
But that story belonged to someone else.
Twenty-four hours later, after Gideon returned alive and Liliane finally collapsed into dreamless sleep, she woke up to a home transformed.
Security roamed the halls. A maid swept the marble floors. A chef chopped onions in her mother's once-private kitchen.
The house she'd lived in for nineteen quiet years—then abandoned for two—was now filled with life.
But it wasn't her life anymore.
By the time she woke, dinner had long passed. The dining room was empty, but the food was still warm—roast chicken, Hungarian stew, mac and cheese, pumpkin pie.
Every dish was her favorite.
And yet... she couldn't eat.
"Don't be afraid," Sebastian had told her.
Which, in her mind, translated to: We won't hurt you. Yet.
She didn't know if she believed him. But one thing she did know—there was nothing here worth stealing. They weren't here to loot.
They were here to stay.
Liliane tolerated it because—what else could she do?
She forced down a few bites, then returned upstairs, locking the door behind her.
She felt like a prisoner in her own home.
Two guards took turns outside her bedroom. Anytime she stepped into the hall, "Black Suit No.1" followed her like a silent shadow.
Downstairs, others loitered with newspapers they never read. Another stood near the glass doors, eyes trained on the darkened yard.
And those were just the ones she could see.
This wasn't protection.
This was polite captivity—delivered with polished cutlery and lukewarm smiles.
Still, the night passed without incident.
The next morning, as she descended the stairs, she found Sebastian already seated in the dining room.
Legs crossed. Coffee in hand. Calm, as if nothing had changed.
"You're up," he said mildly. "Almost eight. Don't you have school?"
Then he rose and walked out the front door like a businessman headed to a client meeting.
Liliane stood frozen, stunned by the absurdity of exchanging pleasantries with a man who'd once pressed a knife against her spine.
But the real surprise?
He let her go.
No threats. No chains. Just breakfast.
The table was reset—Greek yogurt, croissants, toast, jam. Even her milk was warm, unsweetened—exactly how she liked it.
Her usual seat, next to her father's, was pulled out. Waiting.
Four men sat around the table. Two she recognized. Two she didn't.
"Don't just stand there," Sebastian said, not looking up. "Eat."
Liliane offered a quiet "Good morning," then took her place.
The avocado sandwich was already cut. Her utensils—prearranged.
She ate slowly, cautiously. Every bite felt like a performance.
They were watching her. Measuring her.
But she kept her movements controlled. Her face calm.
When she finished, she stood. "Thank you. I'm full. I'm heading to school."
Sebastian nodded slightly.
Black Suit No.5 handed her backpack like a valet. The front door opened with ceremonial ease.
A black Bentley idled outside.
Inside: No.1.
No one else said a word.
The silence lingered, even after the car pulled away.
Then, finally—Gideon chuckled, folding his newspaper. "Impressive. Boss really does know how to pick 'em."
Sebastian's seat sat empty, but his presence still pressed on the room.
The men exchanged glances. No one dared speak too openly.
Except Elias.
"The girl's got that haunted-artist look," he said, reclining. "I dug into her background. Top student. Piano prodigy. Clean as they come."
"What surprises me," he added, "is that Boss hasn't… made a move yet."
Lysander didn't glance up. "Wanting her is easy. Keeping her—that takes patience."
"Letting her go to school, though?" Elias frowned. "That's new."
"No," Lysander replied. "Boss usually cages what he wants. Keeps it clean. Keeps it his."
Gideon's voice cut through the murmurs. "You don't catch a pearl the same way you scoop river gravel."
"This isn't muscle. It's psychology."
Elias turned to the oldest at the table. "Stepanov, your take?"
Stepanov, as measured as always, set down his spoon.
"He's serious."
A pause settled in.
"The girl's different. Calm. Clear-eyed. Untouched. She's not fragile, but she hasn't been shaped yet."
He nodded toward the hall Sebastian had vanished into.
"Wanting her? That I get. But the restraint? That's new."
Everyone knew—Sebastian didn't hold back.
If he wanted something, he took it.
And yet—this time—he waited.
"Marriage-serious?" Gideon teased.
Elias snorted. The idea of Sebastian in a tux was laughable.
But before the laughter could stick—
"Why the hell are you all still here?"
Sebastian's voice sliced through the air.
No smile. No warmth.
Just quiet, controlled steel.
The room scattered instantly.
Except Stepanov.
He calmly finished his soy milk, then looked up.
"This girl..." he said, voice low. "You don't get girls like that twice."
Sebastian clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I know what I'm doing."
But the mystery wasn't why he let Liliane go.
It was this—
She came back.
Most people would've run.
A gang in your house? A boss in your kitchen?
That's not something you live with.
But Liliane stayed.
Not because she trusted them.
Not because she was trapped.
But because this place—this broken home—was all she had left of her parents.
Her mother's perfume still lingered in the hall.
Her father's off-key whistling still haunted the stairs.
You don't abandon grief.
Not when it's the only thing left that ever loved you.
She didn't stay for safety.
She stayed because the house still smelled like memory.
Still felt like home.