THE MAFIA BOSS NOTICED HIS MAID REFUSED TO TAKE OFF HER SHOES

Julian Lorenzo froze.

The elegant crystal wine glass in his hand trembled, sending a ripple through the dark red liquid.

He was Adrian’s younger brother. His most trusted advisor. The man who managed the family’s international ports.

"Leo, what are you talking about?" Julian forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. He looked at Adrian. "The boy is having a nightmare, brother. He doesn't know what he's saying."

But Adrian wasn't laughing.

He looked at the child's drawing in his hand. The tall, shadowy monster at the door.

Then he looked at Julian.

"Marcus," Adrian said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Who gave you the cipher?"

Marcus, still pinned to the marble floor, smiled a bloody, broken smile.

"Family first, right Adrian?"

Julian didn't wait.

He knew his brother. He knew the exact moment patience turned into an execution.

Julian flipped the heavy dining table backward.

Glass shattered. Women screamed. Silverware crashed against the marble in a chaotic wave of noise.

In the confusion, Julian reached into his tailored jacket, pulled a compact firearm, and grabbed the closest thing to him.

Leo.

"Nobody move!" Julian screamed, pressing the barrel of the gun against the seven-year-old boy's temple.

The entire room froze.

Adrian stopped dead in his tracks, his face draining of all color.

"Julian," Adrian said, holding his hands up. "Put the gun down. He is your nephew."

"He's a bargaining chip!" Julian yelled, dragging the terrified, silent boy backward toward the patio doors. "You think I wanted to live in your shadow forever, Adrian? The Morettis offered me half the city. All I had to do was hand over the accounts. And the boy."

Answer One: Julian was the mastermind who hired Marcus to sell out the family.

Open Two: Why did the Morettis specifically want a seven-year-old boy?

My chest tightened.

Leo wasn't crying. He was just staring at me. His large, dark eyes filled with a silent, desperate plea.

I remembered the nights I found him crying in the kitchen. The times I sat on the floor with him in silence because everyone else was too busy running an empire to hold a grieving child.

I couldn't let Julian take him.

Julian was backing toward the glass patio doors, his eyes fixed on Adrian and the guards.

He wasn't looking at the maid.

Because nobody ever looked at the maid.

I didn't think. I just moved.

Ignoring the agonizing pain in my right foot, I grabbed the heavy, silver champagne bucket from the fallen table.

I took three running steps and swung it with every ounce of strength I had in my body.

The solid silver slammed directly into the side of Julian's skull.

The impact echoed through the room.

Julian's eyes rolled back. His grip on the gun loosened as he collapsed to the floor like a sack of stones.

Leo fell with him.

I dropped the bucket and dove onto the marble, wrapping my arms around the little boy, shielding his body with my own just in case the gun went off.

It didn't.

Silence crashed over the dining room.

Then, heavy footsteps rushed toward us.

Adrian fell to his knees beside me.

He didn't check on his unconscious brother. He didn't care about the broken glass or the ruined dinner.

He pulled Leo into his arms, crushing the boy to his chest, burying his face in his son's dark hair.

"I've got you," Adrian choked out. "Daddy's got you."

Leo wrapped his small arms around Adrian's neck, burying his face in his father's shoulder.

Adrian looked up at me.

His dark eyes were wide, filled with an emotion I had never seen a mafia boss display.

Pure, unfiltered gratitude.

"You saved him," Adrian whispered.

"He's a good boy," I said, my voice shaking as the adrenaline began to fade.

Pain suddenly ripped through my leg. I gasped, falling back against a broken chair. The frantic movement had torn the cut on my foot wide open. Blood was now pooling on the pristine white marble.

"Get the estate doctor," Adrian barked at his guards. "Clear this room. Lock my brother in the basement."

He stood up, still holding Leo in one arm.

With his free hand, he reached down and grabbed my arm to help me up.

As he pulled me to my feet, the sleeve of my black maid's uniform caught on the broken edge of the chair.

The cheap cotton tore.

The fabric fell back, exposing my left wrist.

Adrian's eyes instantly locked onto my arm.

He froze.

Wrapped around my wrist was a heavy, intricately carved silver bracelet. It was antique, covered in tiny, sculpted vines, with a deep emerald embedded in the center.

It didn't belong on the wrist of a maid.

It was priceless.

Adrian let go of my arm.

The gratitude in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying shock.

"Where did you get that?" Adrian demanded, his voice dangerously low.

I panicked, pulling my torn sleeve down to hide it.

"It's mine," I stammered. "It's just costume jewelry."

"Don't lie to me," Adrian stepped forward, his massive frame towering over me. "I had that bracelet custom-made in Milan ten years ago."

Reversal: The bracelet wasn't a cheap heirloom. It was intimately connected to the Lorenzo family.

Adrian grabbed my wrist again, pulling the sleeve up forcefully.

He stared at the emerald.

"I gave this to my wife on our anniversary," Adrian whispered. "The night before she was murdered in her hospital bed."