Syndicate sovereign Finnian Aldermere was violently forced shoulder-first against the ballroom wall

The heavy metal cylinder felt cold and awkward in Aveline's delicate hands, but the sheer adrenaline coursing through her veins compensated for its weight. She didn't hesitate. She didn't aim to kill, only to disrupt the execution.

She pulled the pin.

With her expressive eyes wide with terror, Aveline squeezed the handle. She released one short, explosive burst of dense, white chemical foam directly toward Marcellus’s face.

The sudden, forceful spray struck the older cousin squarely in the eyes and mouth. The loud, hissing roar of the extinguisher startled the entire ballroom. Marcellus cried out in shock and pain, instantly recoiling. He released Finnian’s tie, throwing his hands up to his face as he stumbled backward, coughing violently on the bitter chemical powder.

The two bodyguards, completely caught off guard by the sudden assault from a maid, instinctively let go of Finnian’s arms. Their training kicked in, prioritizing the safety of the man paying them. They moved swiftly to shield the blinded, gasping Marcellus, grabbing his expensive formal suit and guiding him away from the wall.

Aveline immediately stopped spraying. The cloud of white dust began to settle over the polished marble floor and the nearest banquet tables.

She dropped the heavy extinguisher. It clattered loudly against the floor, but Aveline was already moving. She returned immediately to Finnian’s side, her hands reaching out to gently steady him.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked, her fingers carefully checking the reddened skin of his neck where the tie had burned him.

Finnian did not stumble. He stood tall, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly as the restrictive grip of the guards vanished. He looked at the young woman in the black maid dress, his observant eyes wide with a mixture of shock and profound respect.

"Did you truly believe a fire extinguisher could stop a coup, Aveline?" Finnian asked, his deep voice carrying a strange, gentle warmth amidst the chaos.

"It stopped him from hitting you," she replied, her chest heaving, her eyes refusing to leave his face.

The surrounding tables fell completely silent. The laughter was gone. The guests stared at the housemaid and the mafia boss, unsure of what would happen next. Marcellus was recovering, wiping the foam from his eyes, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

But before Marcellus could issue the order to have them both shot, a sound broke the silence.

It was faint, muffled, but unmistakably human.

Cough.

The sound came from directly behind the wall they were leaning against. It came from behind the enormous, gilded portrait of Finnian’s late wife.

Finnian froze. The small artistic tattoo on his neck shifted as his sharp jaw tightened. He slowly turned his head, his observant eyes locking onto the bottom edge of the heavy wooden frame.

"Did you hear that?" Finnian asked quietly.