A three-year-old housekeeper’s daughter painted all over my face while I pretended to sleep—an offense that could have terrified grown men inside my Chicago mansion. But when I opened my eyes and heard why she had done it, the feared mafia boss everyone called heartless nearly broke in front of them.

News in the Chicago underworld travels faster than police wiretaps.

By the end of the week, rumors were already circulating through the underground clubs and upscale restaurants of the Gold Coast. Adrian Romano has gone soft. A housekeeper and her brat have breached the fortress. The Romano syndicate is vulnerable.

It was a dangerous misconception. And in my world, misconceptions got people buried under four feet of concrete.

It started on a Thursday afternoon.

Elena was cleaning the library while Lily sat cross-legged on the Persian rug, engaged in a fierce, whispered negotiation with her stuffed rabbit, Buttons. I sat at my desk, reviewing a shipment manifest from the docks, when my encrypted satellite phone buzzed sharply against the wood.

I picked it up.

"Romano," I answered, ice in my tone.

"Adrian, my boy," rasped the voice of Don Salvatore, the aging patriarch of the rival Chicago outfit on the North Side. "I hear domestic life suits you. Cleaning supplies, little girls drawing on your expensive suits... is it true the beast has been tamed by a maid?"

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

"If you have something to say, Salvatore, spit it out before I lose my patience and pay a midnight visit to your granddaughter's boarding school," I replied softly, every word a razor blade.

A sharp intake of breath hissed through the receiver. Salvatore knew I wasn't bluffing.

"Careful, Adrian," Salvatore hissed back, recovering his composure. "Power isn't kept by playing house. Leave the domesticity to weak men, or someone else might decide to clean house for you."

The line went dead with a click.

I lowered the phone, my jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in my cheek. Salvatore thought he could test me. He thought a mother and her child were leverage.

I looked up from my desk. Lily had stopped whispering to Buttons. She was staring at me with those wide, clear eyes, her head tilted to the side.

"Mister Big House," she said quietly. "Your face looks angry again."

The dark, murderous rage churning in my chest evaporated instantly at the sound of her voice. I forced my features to relax, standing up and walking over to the rug.

"It's nothing, Lily," I said, my voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Just some bad news from work."

"You need a hug," she declared matter-of-factly, standing up and wrapping her tiny arms around my knee.