The mafia boss came home early and found his fiancée doing something to his maid that ended their engagement that night

The Beekman Tower rose fifty stories above the East River, an ultra-modern monument to glass, steel, and ill-gotten wealth. Vincente Romano owned the top three floors—a penthouse complex equipped with private elevators, bulletproof exterior glazing, and a rooftop helipad.

At eight-forty-five in the morning, the lobby security desk was occupied by two private guards wearing bespoke blazers.

The revolving glass doors turned, and Luca Moretti walked into the marble foyer.

The guards froze. Luca was supposed to be a charred corpse in the Connecticut woods.

Before either man could touch the alarm button beneath the counter, Marco and three enforcers stepped in behind Luca, drawing silenced automatons and pressing them directly behind the guards' ears.

"Keys," Marco whispered pleasantly. "Or your brains join the lobby architecture."

The guards handed over the security fobs with trembling hands.

Luca stepped into the private express elevator, flanked by Marco, Emma, and four chosen soldiers. The lift accelerated smoothly, the digital floor indicator climbing silently through the thirties and forties.

Emma stood beside Luca, her coat open, one hand resting on the small revolver tucked inside her waist holster. Her face was completely calm now. The fear that had haunted her for three years had burned away, leaving behind a cold, crystalline resolve.

"Are you ready for this?" Luca asked in a low whisper.

"I’ve been ready since the day they lowered my father into the earth," she answered without looking away from the bronze doors.

The elevator chimed softly.

*Penthouse 50.*

The doors parted to reveal an expansive, sun-drenched foyer covered in white Italian marble, modern art, and floor-to-ceiling glass offering a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline.

In the grand dining room straight ahead, a breakfast spread lay across a glass table. Vincente Romano, wearing a tailored silk robe over his dress trousers, was slicing an apple with a silver knife. Across from him sat Bianca, dressed in an immaculate ivory power suit, looking at her tablet with a cup of espresso in hand. Sitting beside them was Assistant Deputy Attorney General Miller, a portly man in an ill-fitting gray suit, reviewing a thick stack of papers.

The chime of the elevator made Bianca look up, an annoyed expression on her face.

"Julian, I told you to bring the updated manifests directly to—"

The words died in her throat.

Her cup of espresso slipped from her fingers, striking the polished floor and shattering in a splash of dark liquid across the pristine white marble.

Vincente stopped cutting his apple. The silver knife remained poised in mid-air.

Miller turned, frowning, before his eyes widened in terror as he recognized the tall, dark-coated figure stepping out of the elevator foyer.

Luca walked into the dining room, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. Behind him walked Emma Bennett, her chin held high, her eyes fixed directly on Bianca’s pale face.