Chapter 8 The Precious Ten Minutes
“You’re going to cure my insomnia? Even world–renowned specialists haven’t managed that.”
Finished
No one knew about what Minerva had encountered at that countryside farm. When she was ten, a black–haired and pale- skinned mysterious man had come to the area. He could heal people using nothing more than a single fine needle.
She had been incredibly curious and would often spy on the mysterious man in secret. Over time, he began to treat her like a friend, sharing fascinating stories with her, and eventually, he even taught her how to use that fine silver needle.
It took Minerva five full years to master the technique.
When she gently inserted a slender silver needle into the Head Acupoint on Zevan’s head, his eyes drifted shut, and his head. sank into the back of the couch.
Minerva quickly reached out and gently cradled his handsome face as it fell toward her.
He had fallen asleep.
Drenched in cold sweat, Francis stood frozen in shock. When he saw Minerva insert that terrifying needle into Zevan’s head, he was nearly prepared to call for help to capture this “assassin.”
“Oh my! You…”
“Shush!”
Francis wanted to shout and question what trick Minerva had played on Zevan. Was she sent by the Somerville family. perhaps in alliance with other politicians, to assassinate him?
“He’s asleep,” Minerva whispered, signaling to Francis to remain quiet. This man rarely slept, so it was best not to wake him. Hearing her words, Francis looked at Zevan in shock. Cautiously, he checked for signs of life. Zevan was still alive and was really asleep
He stared wide–eyed at the now sleeping Zevan, then looked back at the woman before him.
“This…” He wanted to spy, This is unbelievable!
He couldn’t help but reassess the woman standing in front of him. She was the one the Somerville family sent for the marriage alliance, someone they had investigated beforehand. All they found was that she was just a woman who had grown up on a countryside farm.
But the actions and demeanor of the woman before him were nothing like what they had found in their investigation.
If she were an ordinary woman, she would have been trembling in fear when she saw Zevan suffering, let alone when he had pointed a gun at her forehead,
She was composed and astute.
Francis, who had cared for the master for many years, was somewhat emotional. His eyes were slightly reddened, as if tears were on the brink of spilling over.
It had been a while since Zevan last slept.
“Mrs. Lemieux…” Francis spoke, addressing Minerva with respect. At that moment, even if it was just for a short while, the fact that Zevan could sleep was a good thing.
Minerva placed a finger to her lips, signaling for silence with a soft “shh.” “You can leave now. I’ll take care of him.”
Francis felt a bit awkward. As Zevan’s servant, it was his duty to ensure Zevan’s safety,
Though he knew that the woman in
from of him posed no immediate threat to Zevan, he couldn’t shake the teching of
Chapter 8 The Precious Ten Minutes
Finished
She understood that Francis was concerned she might be an assassin and wanted to keep a close watch on Zevan.
However, such worries were clearly unnecessary. If she truly intended to take action, an aging old man like him wouldn’t have been able to stop her.
What did surprise Minerva, though, was that the mafia boss, so often described by the outside world as ruthless and cold- blooded, had such a loyal and devoted servant at his side.
The room was utterly silent.
Minerva let him rest in the cradle of her palm for a moment. Only after he’d slipped into a deep sleep did she gently ease him onto the couch and pull a blanket over him.
After taking care of everything. Minerva lay down on the bed without changing and quickly drifted off to sleep.
At that moment, Zevan slowly opened his eyes on the couch. He was awake.
He rose and walked over to the bed, standing silently as he gazed down at the sleeping woman. There was a flicker of Juncertainty in his eyes.
This woman was truly extraordinary.
His thoughts drifted back to earlier. When rage had consumed him, he had a gun pointed straight at her, yet she hadn’t shown a trace of fear.
He wondered if she had realized the gun in his hand was real. All it would’ve taken was a pull of the trigger, and a buller would’ve ended her life right then and there–her marriage, her future, all over on her wedding day.
Zevan turned away and went back to the couch, lying down once again.
His sleep disorder was steadily worsening, and countless renowned doctors were unable to cure it.
Yet, under her peculiar medical skills, he had actually managed to fall asleep after she used that fine silver needle
Even if only for a brief moment. He lifted his wrist to glance at his watch. He’d probably only slept for about ten minutes.
he hadn‘: managed even ten minutes of sleep in a very long time
e on hi
him.
Zevan glanced at the delicate figure curled up on the bed. Maybe he could agree to her proposal.
His insomnia needed to be dealt with soon. If word got out, another turf wal would break out in Hepham, and that was the last thing he wanted.
As far as he was concerned, he was a pacifist. Bloodshed between mafia families would only draw the government’s attention and stir unrest among the locals. None of it would benefit the syndicate.
If he had a choice, he’d rather lead the Hepham mafia into a future of quiet growth and stability.
The next morning. Minerva sat at the dining table, sipping freshly squeezed juice delivered by the maid.
Meanwhile, Dorothy was at her side, engaging in cheerful conversation.
According to the intelligence gathered by the Somerville family, this elderly woman was in fact the grandmother of a mata boss. However, because Zevan had gone to great lengths to keep her identity hidden, outsiders only saw her as a pitiful old woman, exiled by the family and left to live quietly in Twilight Villa
“Minnic, I liked you the moment I saw you. If Zevan ever dares bully you, just come tell me. I’ll give him a good scolding myself. Drink up, don’t stop, Fresh juice is good for your health. Keep your body strong, and maybe we’ll be blessed with another healthy little baby soon”
Dorothy’s hair had long since turned silver, but her eyes were bright and lively, and she radiated a gentle warmth. Sull Minerva couldn’t help but feel that there was something childlike about the older woman’s manner–cheerful, even mischievous. Had she not studied a bit of medicine with that mysterious man all those years ago, Minerva might’ve suspected Dorothy was showing signs of Alzheimer’s
Chapter & The Precious Ten Minutes
Finished
She understood that Francis was concerned she might be an assassin and wanted to keep a close watch on Zevan.
However, such worries were clearly unnecessary. If she truly intended to take action, an aging old man like him wouldn’t have been able to stop her.
What did surprise Minerva, though, was that the mafia boss, so often described by the outside world as ruthless and cold- blooded, had such a loyal and devoted servant at his side.
The room was utterly silent.
Minerva let him rest in the cradle of her palm for a moment. Only after he’d slipped into a deep sleep did she gently ease him onto the couch and pull a blanket over him.
After taking care of everything, Minerva lay down on the bed without changing and quickly drifted off to sleep.
At that moment, Zevan slowly opened his eyes on the couch. He was awake.
He rose and walked over to the bed, standing silently as he gazed down at the sleeping woman. There was a flicker of Juncertainty in his eyes.
This woman was truly extraordinary.
His thoughts drifted back to earlier. When rage had consumed him, he had a gun pointed straight at her, yet she hadn’t shown a trace of fear.
He wondered if she had realized the gun in his hand was real. All it would’ve taken was a pull of the trigger, and a bullet would’ve ended her life right then and there–her marriage, her future, all over on her wedding day.
Zevan turned away and went back to the couch, lying down once again.
His sleep disorder was steadily worsening, and countless renowned doctors were unable to cure it.
Yet, under her peculiar medical skills, he had actually managed to fall asleep after she used that fine silver needle on him.
Even if only for a brief moment. He lifted his wrist to glance at his watch. He’d probably only slept for about ten minutes..
He hadn’t managed even ten minutes of sleep in a very long time,
Zevan glanced at the delicate figure curled up on the bed. Maybe he could agree to her proposal.
His insomnia needed to be dealt with soon. If word got out, another turf watwould break out in Hepham, and that was the last thing he wanted.
As far as he was concerned, he was a pacifist. Bloodshed between mafia families would only draw the government’s attention and stir unrest among the locals. None of it would benefit the syndicate.
If he had a choice, he’d rather lead the Hepham mafia into a future of quiet growth and stability.
The next morning, Minerva sat at the dining table, sipping freshly squeezed juice delivered by the maid.
Meanwhile, Dorothy was at her side, engaging in cheerful conversation.
According to the intelligence gathered by the Somerville family, this elderly woman was in fact the grandmother of a mafia boss. However, because Zevan had gone to great lengths to keep her identity hidden, outsiders only saw her as a pitiful old woman, exiled by the family and left to live quietly in Twilight Villa.
“Minnie, I liked you the moment I saw you. If Zevan ever dares bully you, just come tell me. I’ll give him a good scolding myself. Drink up, don’t stop. Fresh juice is good for your health. Keep your body strong, and may be we’ll be blessed with another healthy little baby soon.”
Dorothy’s hair had long since turned silver, but her eyes were bright and lively, and she radiated a gentle warmth. Sull. Minerva couldn’t help but feel that there was something childlike about the older woman’s manner–cheerful, even mischievous. Had she not studied a bit of medicine with that mysterious man all those years ago, Minerva might’ve suspected Dorothy was showing signs of Alzheimer’s
Chapter 8 The Precious Ten Minutes
Zevan was coming downstairs.
Finished
Minerva looked up. Zevan was wearing a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into tailored black trousers. It was a timeless combination that made him look like he’d stepped out of a luxury menswear catalogue. The custom–made fabric was ironed to perfection, not a crease in sight.
As he descended the stairs with that effortless air of elegance and aristocratic reserve, Minerva found herself once again wondering how a man like this could be the same ruthless, sadistic mafia boss whispered about in the outside world.
Maybe one day, she should ask him—just casually–where those rumors had come from.
Surely she had the right to ask now. After all, she was his wife.
Trailing behind Zevan was an elderly housekeeper, her expression respectful but unreadable. She carried a white handkerchief with a faint trace of blood on it.
The housekeeper approached Dorothy in silence, handing over the blood–stained handkerchief with both hands.
Upon sering the bloodstain on the handkerchief, Dorothy nodded in satisfaction.
Dorothy was born into a noble family and placed importance on virginity. To her, a virgin bride was a symbol of purity and family honor
Minerva furrowed her brow slightly as her gaze landed on the blood–stained handkerchief. He didn’t do anything, so what’s the deal with the blood on the handkerchiefT
