777 A Little Girl Asked the Mafia Boss, “Why Did You Fire My Mom?”—Then Her Mother’s Name, a Shoebox of Unopened Letters, and One Signature Changed Everything

Dominic took the phone, his expression instantly shifting from a warm father to the lethal chairman of the Moretti group. He stepped out onto the glass balcony overlooking Central Park.

"Carmine," Dominic spoke coldly into the receiver.

"Dominic, my boy!" Carmine’s gravelly voice laughed over the speaker. "I heard a sweet rumor that you found your long-lost little princess. A lovely story. Truly touching."

"State your business, Carmine."

"My business is the Brooklyn shipping terminals," Carmine’s tone turned instantly cold and predatory. "Your father promised them to me ten years ago. You’ve been holding onto them. I want the deeds signed over to the Lucchesi family by tomorrow night."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I suppose a sweet little girl in yellow rain boots might have a terrible accident on her way to school," Carmine purred dangerously. "You're a family man now, Dominic. Family men have everything to lose."

Dominic’s grip on the glass railing tightened so hard the steel groaned. His eyes turned into pure, murderous ice.

"Listen to me very carefully, Carmine," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register of quiet, terrifying absolute deadliness. "If you even breathe the name of my daughter again, I won't just kill you. I will erase your entire bloodline from this city. You have twenty-four hours to leave New York."

Dominic ended the call and tossed the phone onto the patio table.

He walked back into the kitchen. Clara looked at him with wide, anxious eyes, having overheard the tension in his voice.