635 The mafia boss secretly followed his maid’s little daughter into his dead daughter’s abandoned garden—and what she whispered to a photograph made him drop to his knees.

Back at the Moretti estate, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically.

Sophia stood in the center of the massive guest suite in the east wing, completely overwhelmed. The room was four times the size of her entire previous apartment. It featured high ceilings, a king-sized bed with plush velvet covers, a private fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rear gardens.

Emma was currently bouncing happily on the soft carpet, hugging a newly washed plush teddy bear that one of the estate guards had brought up from the storage room.

“Mama, look!” Emma squealed. “The floor is like a cloud!”

Sophia smiled weakly, but her heart was racing. She couldn't relax. People like her didn't get elevated from kitchen maids to luxury estate managers overnight without a cost. In her mind, world-famous mobsters didn't show charity unless they wanted something in return.

A soft knock at the open double doors interrupted her thoughts.

Alessandro stood in the doorway. He had changed out of his mud-stained clothes into a crisp black shirt with the top button undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The lethal aura he had carried at the docks was gone, replaced by a quiet, exhausted dignity.

“Mr. Moretti,” Sophia said quickly, smoothing down her skirt. “I... we haven't touched anything. If this is a mistake, we can go back to the staff quarters—”

“It’s not a mistake, Sophia,” Alessandro said quietly. He stepped into the room, keeping a respectable distance. “Is the room to your liking?”

“It’s... it’s far too much, sir,” she confessed, her voice dropping. “I don't understand why you are doing this. I’m just a maid. I clean your floors.”

Alessandro looked down at Emma, who had abandoned her plush bear and was now walking toward him with complete lack of fear. She stopped right in front of the giant man, holding out a small, red plastic flower she had found in a toy box.

“For you,” Emma said brightly. “Because you were nice to my Papa’s tree.”

Alessandro looked at the plastic flower, then slowly reached down and took it between his thick fingers as if it were made of delicate glass.

“Thank you, Emma,” he said softly.

He looked back at Sophia. “Three years ago, when my wife and daughter died, I thought my life was over. I locked every door in this house. I stopped living. I just existed. This morning, your daughter went into a dead garden and showed more respect to memory and life than I have shown in three years.”

Sophia felt a lump form in her throat. “Mr. Moretti...”

“Call me Alessandro,” he said. “Your husband, Daniel... he was an honest man. He was killed because corrupt men wanted to save money on construction materials. I know the people who ran that site.”

Sophia’s eyes widened in shock. “What? The police told me it was a mechanical failure on the crane!”

“The police were paid to lie,” Alessandro said, his tone grim. “The men responsible for Daniel’s death belong to a rival network. They cut corners, used illegal steel, and covered up the tragedy. I am going to make sure those men pay for what they did to your family.”

Tears welled up in Sophia’s eyes once again, but this time they were not tears of fear—they were tears of long-overdue justice. For two agonizing years, she had carried the crushing weight of grief, debt, and confusion, believing her husband’s death was just a meaningless, random twist of fate.

“Why would you do that for us?” Sophia whispered, her voice trembling.

“Because I couldn't save my own family,” Alessandro answered, his eyes dark with ancient pain. “But I can protect yours. And because I believe the accident that took my wife and daughter... might be connected to the same men.”

A cold silence fell over the room. Sophia gasped, clutching her hand to her chest. “You think... your family was murdered?”

“I am going to find out,” Alessandro replied coldly. “Until I do, you and Emma are under my protection. You will stay here. My men will guard you. You will never have to worry about rent, food, or safety ever again.”

Emma walked back to her mother, pulling on Sophia’s apron. “Mama, why are you crying? Is the king mean?”

Sophia dropped to her knees and hugged Emma tightly, pressing a kiss into her daughter’s soft hair while looking up at Alessandro.

“No, sweetie,” Sophia sobbed softly, meeting Alessandro’s dark, intense gaze. “The king is saving us.”

Alessandro nodded once, a silent vow passing between them. As he turned to leave the suite, Victor Hale appeared in the hallway, holding a thick leather dossier.

“Boss,” Victor whispered urgently as Alessandro closed the door behind him. “You need to see this. We ran Frank Russo’s wire transfers from three years ago. Two days before Mrs. Moretti’s car went off the coastal cliff, Russo received a five-hundred-thousand-dollar transfer from an offshore account.”

Alessandro’s eyes turned into liquid fire. “Who authorized the transfer?”

Victor hesitated, swallowing hard before answering.

“The account wasn't Lorenzo Valenti’s, boss,” Victor whispered nervously. “The account belonged to your cousin... Marco Moretti.”

Alessandro felt the world pause around him. Betrayal, sharp and icy, slashed through his mind. His own blood. His cousin Marco—the man who sat at his dinner table, the man who wept at Isabella and Arya’s funeral.

“Where is Marco right now?” Alessandro asked, his voice chillingly quiet.

“He’s at his estate in Manhattan,” Victor replied. “He just booked a one-way flight to Geneva for tomorrow morning.”