THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME CROSS HIS DINING ROOM ON MY TOES

The red and blue lights of the police cruisers flashed through the heavy velvet curtains of the study, painting the walls in erratic, violent strokes.

“Don’t let them through the gates,” Luca ordered Thomas. “Tell them they need a warrant.”

“Boss, if we stonewall them on a murder tip, they’ll bring a SWAT team in an hour,” Thomas warned.

“Buy me twenty minutes,” Luca snapped.

Thomas nodded and rushed out of the room.

I pulled Toby tighter against my chest. My son was quiet, sensing the fear in the room, his small fingers digging into my apron. Mrs. Gable was crying softly in the corner.

My husband was Luca Moretti’s brother.

The words echoed in my head, making no sense. David was gentle. He built birdhouses. He burned toast. He wasn’t mafia royalty.

But it explained so much. Why his life insurance was mysteriously tripled right before he died. Why I was randomly offered a high-paying maid position at the most secretive estate in the city when I was close to eviction.

They had been watching us.

“Luca,” I said, my voice trembling. “If Patrick called the police before he died… he was setting you up.”

Luca was pacing behind his desk. He picked up the birth certificate again.

“Patrick didn’t call them,” Luca said, his mind working furiously. “Patrick didn’t want the police anywhere near this house. He was stealing from me. You don’t call the cops while you’re robbing the vault.”

“Then who called them?”

“The person who shot Patrick in the dark.” Luca stopped pacing. “The person who locked us in. They wanted me trapped in the room with the body when the police arrived.”

He looked at me.

“They want me out of the way. And they want you and Toby unprotected.”

I felt a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck.

“Why us?”

“Because if David was my brother, that makes Toby a direct blood heir to the Moretti estate,” Luca said. “My father’s will was explicitly clear. If I die, or go to prison for life, the estate goes to the next living male heir.”

I looked down at my six-year-old son, clutching his stuffed bear.

Someone was trying to frame Luca for murder so they could take control of the family empire. And my son was the only obstacle left.

“We have to get him out of here,” I said, panic rising. “We have to leave.”

“No,” Luca said sharply. “Outside these gates, you’re targets. Inside, I can protect you. But I need to know exactly what Patrick was stealing for them.”

Luca walked to his desk. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small, black leather bound book.

It was a ledger.

“I found this in Patrick’s suite an hour ago, right before I came to talk to you in the sitting room,” Luca explained.

He opened it. The pages were filled with handwritten dates, numbers, and shipping routes.

“Patrick was selling my shipping schedules to the Rossi family,” Luca said. “The Rossis have been trying to take over our ports for five years. But there’s something else in here. Look.”

He handed me the ledger.

I looked at the last entry. It was dated today.

Pier 41. 11:00 PM. Exchange: Blueprints for the final payment.

I stared at the words. Pier 41.

“I know Pier 41,” I whispered.

Luca frowned. “How?”

“Before I worked here, I worked for a commercial cleaning service. I cleaned the offices at Pier 41 every Tuesday night.”

Luca’s eyes widened. “That warehouse has been abandoned for two years.”

“Not the basement offices,” I said. “Someone paid my company in cash to clean it once a week. They had heavy steel doors. Security cameras. I thought it was just a rich tech startup.”

“Who paid you?”

“I never saw them. The money was left in an envelope under the mat.” I paused, a terrible realization hitting me. “Luca… Patrick was the one who recommended me for this job at your estate. He told the staffing agency I was highly qualified.”

Luca stepped closer.

“He didn’t hire you out of pity,” Luca said softly. “He hired you because you knew the layout of Pier 41. He kept you close so you couldn’t talk to the police about what was down there.”

I felt sick. I had been a pawn in a massive, deadly game, and I hadn’t even known it.

“Mommy?” Toby tugged on my sleeve.

“Yes, baby?”

Toby reached into his other pajama pocket.

“The nice man gave me something else, too.”

My heart stopped.

Toby pulled his small hand out of his pocket.

He was holding a thick, folded piece of heavy cardstock.

I took it from him. It was a one-way, first-class plane ticket.

Destination: Geneva, Switzerland.

Date of departure: Tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM.

But the name on the ticket wasn’t Patrick Sloan.

I read the name aloud, my voice shaking.

“Thomas Vance.”

Luca froze.

The silence in the study was absolute.

Thomas. The head of security. The man who had been with Luca for ten years. The man currently at the front gates, supposedly holding off the police.

“Thomas,” Luca whispered, the betrayal hitting him like a physical blow.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the study locked from the outside with a loud, electronic click.

The lights in the room flickered, then died.

Emergency red lights kicked on, bathing the study in a sinister glow.

The secure landline on Luca’s desk began to ring.

Luca stared at the phone. Then he picked it up and put it on speaker.

“You found the ticket,” Thomas’s voice echoed through the room. It wasn’t panicked anymore. It was calm. Arrogant.

“You shot Patrick,” Luca said, his voice vibrating with lethal anger.

“Patrick was sloppy. He got caught stealing from your locker room. He panicked. I couldn’t let him ruin the deal at Pier 41 tonight.”

“You’re working for the Rossis.”

“I’m working for myself, Luca. The Rossis are just paying for my retirement.”

“The police are at the gates,” Luca said. “You can’t get out.”

Thomas laughed softly. “There are no police at the gates, boss. I played a siren sound effect over the radio to keep you in the study. While you were looking at ledgers, I disabled the estate’s security grid.”

I grabbed Toby and pulled him behind the heavy mahogany desk.

“What do you want, Thomas?” Luca asked.

“I have the blueprints Patrick died for. I’m leaving for Pier 41 to make the exchange. But I need insurance.”

“I won’t let you leave.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Thomas said.

A loud hissing sound began to fill the study.

I looked toward the air vents. White gas was pouring into the room.

“Carbon monoxide,” Thomas said. “Colorless. Odorless. But I mixed in a little sulfur so you’d know it’s coming. You have about four minutes before you all pass out. Ten minutes before you die.”

“Open the door!” Luca roared.