**THE PREGNANT MAID BAKED A BIRTHDAY COBBLER FOR THE OLD MAN EVERYONE HAD FORGOTTEN—UNAWARE HE WAS THE MAFIA BOSS’S FATHER, AND THAT HIS SILENCE WAS HIDING A TERRIFYING SECRET.**

“Marcus,” Olivia whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a curse.

He was pinned against the shattered glass of the kitchen floor, breathing heavily. He looked exactly the same as the day he had abandoned her—sharp jawline, dark hair, wearing a worn leather jacket. But the charming, easy-going mechanic who had bought her ice cream and promised her a family was gone. His eyes were wild, darting frantically around the room, settling on Gabriel with naked terror.

Gabriel stared down at him, his face an impenetrable mask of pure, lethal rage.

“You’re Marcus Caldwell,” Gabriel stated, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.

Marcus swallowed hard, struggling against the guard’s grip. “Moretti, wait! You don't understand! We were just following orders!”

“Following orders,” Gabriel repeated softly. He didn't yell. He simply placed the heel of his expensive Italian leather shoe directly onto Marcus’s right hand, pressing down until the distinct sound of cracking bone echoed through the kitchen.

Marcus screamed in agony.

“Gabriel, please!” Olivia cried out, shielding Edward’s face so the old man wouldn't have to watch the violence.

Gabriel paused, glancing at Olivia. He saw the sheer terror in her eyes, the way she protectively hovered over his frail father. He eased the pressure on Marcus’s hand, though he didn't step away.

“Who gave the orders, Marcus?” Gabriel asked, his voice deadly calm. “Who paid your mother to paralyze my father? Who paid you to murder my uncle and use a pregnant girl to hide the vault key?”

Marcus was panting, tears of pain leaking from his eyes. “I didn't kill Sal! I swear to God! I was just the driver! My mother mixed the poison, but she didn't order the hit!”

“Then who did?” Gabriel demanded, crouching down so he was inches from Marcus’s face.

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut. “Lucas. Vincent Lucas.”

The name hit Gabriel like a physical blow.

Vincent Lucas was the head of the Lucas Crime Syndicate, the Rinaldi family’s oldest and most bitter rival in New York. For years, there had been a fragile, unspoken truce between the two empires.

“Lucas paid you to cripple my father,” Gabriel deduced, the terrifying scope of the betrayal finally taking shape. “With my father paralyzed and my uncle dead, he knew the Rinaldi empire would fall entirely on my shoulders. He wanted to destabilize us from the inside.”

“He wanted the vault key!” Marcus cried, cradling his broken hand. “Sal’s vault holds the deed to the downtown ports! Lucas knew if he got the deed, he could lock you out of the shipping routes. He told me to hide the key until the heat died down, and then bring it to him. But then you locked my mother in the basement today! I had to come back for the key before you found it!”

Olivia stood up slowly, her knees trembling. She reached into the pocket of her faded maternity uniform and pulled out the heavy brass key.

“Is this what you came for?” Olivia asked, her voice shaking with a mixture of heartbreak and absolute disgust.

Marcus looked at the key in her hand. “Liv, please. Give it to me. If I don't bring it to Lucas, he’s going to kill me.”

“You left me,” Olivia sobbed, the betrayal burning fresh, hot tears down her cheeks. “You left me with nothing. You let me think I wasn't good enough for you, but you were just using our baby as a hiding spot.”

“I had to!” Marcus pleaded. “No one suspects a pregnant maid! You were the perfect cover!”

Gabriel didn't let Marcus say another word. He delivered a swift, brutal kick to Marcus’s ribs, instantly silencing him.

“Lock him in the cellar with his mother,” Gabriel ordered his guards. “If either of them speaks, break their jaws.”

The guards dragged a groaning Marcus away, hauling him down the hallway toward the basement stairs.

Gabriel turned back to Olivia and his father. The violent, ruthless Mafia Don melted away as he knelt beside the frail old man on the marble floor.

“Dad,” Gabriel whispered, gently brushing the silver hair away from Edward’s sweat-drenched forehead. “Can you hear me?”

Edward nodded weakly. His breathing was still shallow, but his eyes were sharp. “I hear you, son.”

Suddenly, the heavy front doors of the mansion chimed.

“Mr. Rinaldi!” A man in a white medical coat rushed into the kitchen, carrying a large black medical bag. “I came as quickly as I could! Your security team called and said your father was having a seizure!”

It was Dr. Harris, the private physician who had treated Edward for the past four years. The man who had repeatedly assured Gabriel that Edward was suffering from irreversible stroke damage.

Gabriel stood up slowly, looking at the doctor.

“He’s not having a seizure, Doctor,” Gabriel said, his voice eerily calm. “He was choking on a paralytic toxin. A toxin he’s been given every single day for four years.”

Dr. Harris froze. The color drained from his face. He looked at Edward, who was now awake and staring at him with pure hatred, and then at Gabriel.

“Mr. Rinaldi, that… that’s impossible,” Dr. Harris stammered, clutching his medical bag tightly against his chest. “I ran the blood tests myself. There was no toxin.”

“You didn't run the tests,” Edward rasped from the floor, his voice growing stronger with every passing minute as the poison left his system. “You took the bribes. From Caldwell.”

Olivia gasped, backing away from the doctor. The man who was supposed to heal Edward had been complicit in his torture.

Dr. Harris panicked. He dropped his medical bag and bolted for the shattered back door.

Gabriel was faster. He grabbed the doctor by the collar of his coat, hurling him violently backward into the kitchen island.

“You watched my father rot in a wheelchair for four years!” Gabriel roared, pinning the doctor against the granite countertop. “How much did Vincent Lucas pay you to look the other way?!”

“He threatened my family!” Dr. Harris cried, shielding his face. “Lucas said if I exposed the poison, he would kill my wife! I had no choice!”

Gabriel drew his weapon, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against Dr. Harris’s forehead.

“Gabriel, stop!” Olivia screamed, grabbing his arm. “Don't do it! Not in front of him!” She pointed down at Edward.

Gabriel’s breathing was heavy, ragged with fury. He looked at Olivia, feeling the desperate grip of her small hands on his arm. He looked down at his father, who had spent four years in silent agony.

Slowly, Gabriel lowered the gun.

He grabbed the doctor by the scruff of his neck and threw him toward the remaining guard. “Put him in the cellar with the Caldwells. We’ll deal with them tonight.”

Gabriel holstered his weapon and turned back to Olivia.

“Help me get him up,” Gabriel said softly.

Together, Gabriel and Olivia gently lifted Edward from the cold marble floor. They didn't put him back in the wheelchair. Instead, Gabriel carried his father into the grand living room, gently laying him on the plush leather sofa.

Olivia quickly grabbed a warm blanket and draped it over the old man, tucking it carefully around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Edward whispered, looking up at Olivia with profound gratitude. “You saved me, child.”

“You saved yourself, Mr. Edward,” Olivia smiled through her tears, gently squeezing his hand.

Gabriel watched them, his chest tight with a sudden, overwhelming realization. This pregnant maid, a girl who had been abandoned and used by the very people trying to destroy his family, was the only reason his father was alive today.

But before Gabriel could speak, the mansion’s state-of-the-art security system began blaring a deafening, high-pitched alarm.

Red strobe lights flashed through the massive windows of the living room.