The most feared mafia boss in Chicago came home three hours early and found his housekeeper secretly feeding four identical little boys at the dining table no one had touched since his wife died. He was about to demand an explanation when one boy pointed at him and asked, “Elena, is that the man from the picture?” The spoon fell from her hand. My name is Alejandro Moretti. For twenty years, men across Chicago had learned

The drive back to the motel was a blur of panic and rage.

Ask Elena.

Elena, who had raised me since I was a teenager. Elena, who had protected my boys.

Could she be the traitor? Had she tried to kill my wife to curry favor with Massimo?

I burst into the motel room.

Sofia was sitting on the bed, reading a book to the boys. They looked up, startled by my violent entry.

"Alejandro?" Sofia asked, standing up quickly. "Is it done?"

I didn't look at her. I looked at Elena, who was standing by the kitchenette, boiling water for tea.

"Elena," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "Who cut the brake lines on Sofia's car five years ago?"

Elena froze. The kettle in her hand rattled against the stove.

Sofia looked between us, confused. "Alejandro, what are you talking about? It was an accident. The roads were icy—"

"Massimo has your wedding ring," I said to Sofia, keeping my eyes locked on the housekeeper. "He said Marcus didn't just fake the crash. He said the crash was real. Someone tried to kill you."

Elena slowly turned around. Her face was drenched in sorrow. Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks.

"I am so sorry, Alejandro," she wept.

My heart broke for the second time in twenty-four hours.

I raised my pistol, aiming it at the woman who was essentially my mother.

"Why?" I choked out. "Massimo paid you?"

"No!" Elena cried, dropping to her knees. "Massimo didn't pay me! I cut the brakes. But I didn't do it for him!"

"Then who?!" I yelled, losing control.

"For you!" Elena screamed back, sobbing violently. "I did it for you, Alejandro!"

The room went dead silent.

Elena looked up, her hands trembling.

"Five years ago, you were losing the war against the Chicago factions. You were distracted. You were soft. The men were losing respect for you. I overheard Dante planning to assassinate you."

Answer one: Elena cut the brakes.

But why?

"I knew that if you became a father, you would walk away from the life," Elena confessed, her voice breaking. "Sofia told me she was pregnant. She was going to tell you that night. If you knew, you would have surrendered your territory to Dante to keep them safe. And Dante would have killed you anyway. He takes no prisoners."

"So you tried to kill my wife and my unborn children to keep me focused on the mafia?" I asked, utterly disgusted.

"I tried to save your life!" Elena wailed. "I thought if you lost her, you would become the ruthless Boss you needed to be to survive! And it worked, Alejandro! You wiped out your enemies in a month! You survived!"

I felt sick. The betrayal was so absolute, so twisted by the toxic loyalty of our world.

"But Marcus found out," Elena continued, weeping into her hands. "He found the cut brake line before the car exploded. He confronted me. We struck a deal. He would hide Sofia and the babies from Massimo, and I would spend the rest of my life protecting them in secret, paying for my sin."

I lowered my gun. I couldn't shoot an old woman on her knees.

But I could never look at her again.

"Get out," I whispered.

"Alejandro, please—"

"Get out before I put a bullet in your head!" I roared.

Elena staggered to her feet, looked at the boys one last time, and ran out the door.

I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. The toxicity of my life had poisoned everyone around me.

Suddenly, the motel room door was kicked open.

Massimo stood in the doorway, flanked by four heavily armed guards.

He had followed me.

"A touching confession," Massimo sneered. "But I'm afraid this family reunion is over."

He raised a gun, pointing it directly at Mateo’s chest.