The maid’s three-year-old daughter knocked the cake from a mafia boss’s son’s hands just before he took a bite—then she revealed the man who had poisoned it was someone the family trusted most.

Dante Moretti stepped through the ruined archway of the wine cellar.

He was breathing heavily, his suit coat gone, his white dress shirt soaked in blood that clearly wasn't his own. In his hand, he carried a tactical shotgun, its barrel still warm and smoking.

Behind him, Victor and three surviving elite guards took positions, their laser sights painting bright crimson dots over Julian’s writhing body.

"Father," Ethan whispered, lowering the gun entirely.

Dante walked past Sophia and the children. When his eyes fell on Sophia—bruised, bleeding from her elbow, but fiercely shielding both children—something shifted deep within the mafia Don’s gaze. A look of fierce, unyielding respect flashed across his hard features.

Then, he looked down at his brother.

"Dante..." Julian choked out, coughing up a spatter of red. "Dante, please... we’re brothers. Blood of our blood."

Dante racked the slide of the shotgun with a deafening metallic clatter. The sound seemed to suck all the remaining air out of the underground cellar.

"You gave up the blood when you tried to poison my son on his birthday," Dante said, his voice flat, devoid of anger, which made it a thousand times more terrifying. "Who paid you, Julian? Was it Castellano?"

Julian chuckled bitterly, blood foaming at the corner of his lips. "Castellano? You think small, Dante. Just like Father did. Castellano was just the hammer. The contract came from the North. The Syndicate of the Raven. They don't just want New York... they want every port from Boston to Miami."

Julian looked up at Dante with a twisted, mocking grin. "You killed their strike team upstairs. But you can't kill what’s already coming for you. And that little girl..." Julian glanced toward Lily, his grin widening into something grotesque. "They know who her father was, Dante. You think she just *happened* to have a nose for rare chemicals? You think she’s just a maid’s bastard?"

Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart stopped. She looked at Dante, her face turning pale as paper.

Dante’s eyes narrowed into razor-sharp points. "What did you say?"

"Ask her!" Julian spat, laughing weakly. "Ask the pretty little maid who she used to work for before she showed up on your doorstep begging to clean floors!"

*BANG!*

Dante pulled the trigger.