“Pull Everything.” They Poured Wine on the Mafia Boss—Then the Curvy Architect Took Back the Entire Room “Pull everything.”

By eight o'clock the following morning, the news of the St. Jude gala scandal had exploded across every financial news outlet in the state.

Headlines screamed across digital screens: CASTELLANO ENTERPRISES FACES LIQUIDITY CRISIS AS VALE NORTH PULLS OUT. ST. JUDE WATERFRONT PROJECT HALTED AMID STRUCTURAL ALLEGATIONS. IS THE VALENTE EMPIRE MOVING IN ON THE WATERFRONT?

Inside the high-rise glass tower of Kuri Architectural Studio, Sarah sat at her grand drafting table, surrounded by rolls of blueprints, structural schematics, and empty coffee cups. Her small team of three junior architects looked terrified, huddled near the glass windows as news helicopters circled the harbor outside.

The city building inspector’s office had already issued a temporary cease-and-desist order for the St. Jude Ballroom based on Dominic’s emergency filing. If Sarah couldn't disprove the fraudulent structural claims by five o'clock that afternoon, her license would be automatically suspended pending a six-month board review. Six months without a license meant bankruptcy. It meant the end of her firm.

The office door swung open.

Enzo Valente walked in, flanked by two sharp-dressed men holding leather briefcases. He wore a charcoal-grey double-breasted suit, his dark hair brushed back, looking every bit the ruthless titan of industry.

“Enzo,” Sarah said, standing up from her desk. “You shouldn't be here. The press is parked outside—”

“Let them watch,” Enzo said smoothly, waving his hand toward his aides. “Sarah, these are Marcus and Chen. Marcus is the senior partner at the city’s top land-use litigation firm. Chen is the chief forensic accountant for Valente Global.”

Sarah blinked. “What are they doing here?”

“They work for you today,” Enzo said simply. He walked over to her drafting table, leaning over the blueprints with a sharp, discerning eye. “Dominic thinks he can use bureaucratic red tape to strangle you. He doesn't realize that I bought the company that manufactured the red tape.”

Marcus stepped forward, opening a thick leather binder. “Miss Kuri, Castellano’s injunction relies on an anonymous engineering report claiming the main support beams beneath the St. Jude dance floor were compromised during your renovation. To fight this in court would take months. However, if we can prove the report is forged or paid for, the judge can throw out the injunction instantly under emergency fraud rules.”

“The report is forged!” Sarah insisted fiercely, grabbing a heavy rolled blueprint from her desk and spreading it out. “Look at these load-bearing calculations! I reinforced the sub-floor with carbon-fiber girders! That floor can hold three times the weight of a packed gala! I have the original mill certifications and inspector stamps right here!”

Enzo stared down at the intricate lines and mathematical formulas she had drawn. A look of deep admiration flashed across his face.

“You kept the original mill receipts?” Enzo asked.

“Of course I did,” Sarah said, a spark of her fiery pride returning. “My Lebanese grandmother raised me to double-check every invoice and lock every door. I don't sign off on a single beam without a stamped paper trail.”

Enzo smiled—a slow, dangerous smile. “Chen. How long to trace the money behind the fraudulent report?”

The accountant looked up from his tablet. “Castellano Enterprises routed a fifty-thousand-dollar payment through a shell company called Apex Engineering yesterday afternoon at 4:00 PM. I’ve already flagged the transaction through our banking compliance network. I can have a sworn affidavit from the bank’s chief compliance officer in twenty minutes.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”

“Money leaves footprints, Miss Kuri,” Chen said with a polite nod. “And Mr. Valente owns the dirt they walk on.”

Just then, Sarah’s desk phone rang. She hit the speaker button.

“Sarah!” It was Mayor Thomas’s chief of staff, his voice frantic. “There’s an emergency session of the Waterfront Development Commission happening at noon at City Hall! Dominic Castellano’s legal team is pushing for an immediate vote to reassign the St. Jude master contract to an offshore firm! If you’re not there to defend your plans, the commission will sign it over!”

Sarah looked at the clock on the wall. It was 10:30 AM.

“I’ll be there,” Sarah said firmly.

“Bring your lawyer, Sarah,” the chief of staff warned. “Dominic’s father, Senior Castellano, just arrived at City Hall. He’s brought half the city council with him. They’re out for blood.”

Sarah hung up the phone. She felt a wave of anxiety wash over her, but when she looked up, Enzo was standing directly in front of her.

He reached out, his warm fingers lightly catching her chin, lifting her face so she had to look into his silver eyes.

“Listen to me, Sarah,” Enzo whispered, his voice smooth and steadying. “They think they are going to execute a quiet corporate mugging in a cozy government committee room. They think you are alone. But you are not alone. Put on your suit. Grab your blueprints. We are going to City Hall, and we are going to burn their house down.”