526 Nobody could believe the most feared mafia boss in Chicago would secretly trail a three-year-old little girl through the freezing night. Yet what waited behind that battered apartment door shattered the heart of a man who had survived bullets, betrayals, and bloodshed without ever shedding a single tear.

The realization swept through me like liquid ice. A mole inside my inner circle.

For three years, Moretti Manor had been an impenetrable fortress because only my most trusted men—men who had bled with me in the street wars of the nineties—were allowed inside the iron gates. If Salieri knew about Emma’s presence in the garden, the leak wasn't coming from a street-level soldier.

It was coming from inside these walls.

"Charles!" I roared through the intercom.

Within seconds, the door to my study flew open. Charles stepped in, his posture rigid, flanked by Marco.

"Boss?" Marco asked, noticing the shattered brass phone on my desk. "What did Salieri say?"

I didn't answer right away. I walked slowly over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the courtyard, my back turned to them. I watched two guards pacing along the perimeter wall, their automatic rifles slung over their shoulders.

"Salieri knows," I said softly, my voice carrying a terrifying stillness. "He knows Sofia is in the guest suite. He knows Emma plays in the sunflower garden."

Marco swore under his breath. "That's impossible. Only our inner team knows they're here! We didn't even register their names on the gate log!"

"Then someone on our inner team is talking," I said, turning around slowly. My eyes locked onto Marco, then shifted to Charles.

Charles stood straight, his face unreadable, though his jaw tightened slightly. "Don Antonio, I have served your family for twenty-five years. I served your father before you—"

"I'm not accusing you, Charles," I said calmly. "I'm stating a fact. The security of this house is compromised. Effective immediately, no one leaves the estate. All external phone lines are cut. All radio transmissions are logged through my private desk."

"And what about Sofia and the girl?" Marco asked, his hand resting on his sidearm.

"They move," I declared. "To the hidden safe room beneath the wine cellar. Today."

An hour later, I guided Sofia and Emma down the narrow, spiral stone staircase hidden behind a fake bookcase in my private library. The air grew cooler as we descended deep underground into the sub-basement built during the Prohibition era.

The safe room was surprisingly comfortable—outfitted with leather armchairs, canned supplies, running water, and independent air ventilation. But to Sofia, it looked like a dungeon.

"Mr. Moretti," Sofia pleaded, holding Emma close to her chest as she looked around the concrete walls. "What is going on? Are we in danger?"

"You are safer down here than anywhere on earth," I replied, standing at the heavy iron door. "Salieri knows you are here. He is going to try to hit us."

Sofia’s eyes filled with tears of pure terror. "Oh God... it's happening again. Just like Marco... they're going to kill us..."

"No one is going to touch you," I said, stepping closer to her. I reached out, hesitantly, and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Her body was shaking, but under my touch, she seemed to steady slightly. "Look at me, Sofia."

She looked up into my eyes.

"I failed my wife," I said, the words cutting through my throat like broken glass. "I failed my daughter Claire. I was late, and they died alone on a cold road. I swear on their graves, on my life, and on my soul—as long as I draw breath, no one will lay a finger on you or Emma."

Sofia stared at me, the fear in her brown eyes slowly giving way to something else—an intense, profound trust that I hadn't earned, yet was now bound by honor to uphold.

"I believe you, Antonio," she whispered, using my first name for the very first time.

Little Emma tugged at my coat sleeve. "Mr. Stone? Is Daisy allowed to sleep here too?"

I looked down at the tiny girl, managed a small, faint nod, and reached into my pocket. I pulled out a small, metallic object—a silver pocket watch with a warm tick-tock sound.

"Here," I said, handing it to her. "Hold onto this. It’s magic. As long as it ticks, I'm watching over you."

Emma gasped, holding the shining silver watch against her ear, listening to the rhythmic ticking with pure wonder. "It sounds like a heart!"

"It is," I whispered.

I closed the iron door, locked it from the outside with a heavy mechanical deadbolt, and walked back up to the library.

My hunt for the traitor began immediately.

I sat in my control room, reviewing every landline call made from the mansion over the past 48 hours. Charles brought me the logbooks, while Marco brought the roster of guards stationed at the perimeter.

"There were three outgoing calls made yesterday afternoon," Marco pointed out, tapping a sheet of paper. "One to the butcher, one to the fuel supplier, and one to a private number in South Chicago."

"Who made the South Chicago call?" I asked.

"It originated from the security booth at the East Gate," Marco said, his face darkening. "Guard on duty was Joey 'The Lip' Viteri. He’s been on our payroll for two years. His cousin works for Salieri’s underboss."

A cold, lethal calm settled over me. Joey Viteri. A mid-level guard who had been granted access to the inner perimeter because his father had been a loyal soldier.

"Bring him to the wine cellar," I commanded.

Ten minutes later, Joey Viteri was tied to a wooden chair in the damp shadows of the wine cellar, right across the hallway from the steel door where Sofia and Emma were hidden.

Marco smacked him across the face, shattering his lip. Joey spat blood onto the concrete, coughing hysterically.

"I didn't say nothing! I swear to God, Don Antonio!" Joey whimpered, his eyes wide with blind panic as I stepped out from the shadows. "I just called my cousin about a horse race!"

I walked up to him, unsheathing a slim, razor-sharp hunting knife from my belt. I didn't yell. I didn't raise my hand. I simply leaned down until my breath touched his ear.

"You gave Salieri details about the child," I whispered softly. "You told him she played in my wife’s garden. You sold a three-year-old girl to a monster for what... five thousand dollars? Ten?"

"Please! Don Antonio! They threatened my sister! Salieri said he’d kill her if I didn't give them intel—"

"You brought war to my home," I interrupted. "You put her in danger."

Before Joey could scream, a sudden, violent shudder shook the entire mansion above us.

BOOM!

A massive explosion rattled the concrete foundations of the cellar. Dust poured from the ceiling. Dust rained down over the wine racks. The lightbulbs flickered frantically, then died, plunging the cellar into pitch blackness.

Screams echoed from the floor above, followed immediately by the rapid, deafening chatter of automatic gunfire.