The Mafia Boss Buried His Fiancée and Newborn—Then a Maid's Toddler Whispered, “Your Daughter Is Still Alive.”

Tommy stared at Dante in horror.

In a sudden, desperate surge of panic, Tommy raised the revolver and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The heavy bullet tore through the left shoulder of Dante's black coat, grazing his skin and leaving a trail of hot blood.

Dante didn't even flinch. He didn't cry out. He didn't hesitate.

Before Tommy could pull the trigger a second time, Dante lunged across the mahogany desk, his heavy hand clamping down over the cylinder of the revolver like a steel vise, locking the mechanism in place.

With his other hand, Dante grabbed Tommy by the throat, lifting the grown man completely off his chair and slamming him hard onto the glass top of the desk.

The heavy glass shattered into jagged shards.

Tommy gasped for air, his feet kicking uselessly against the desk legs as Dante's grip tightened around his windpipe.

"You sat at my table," Dante whispered, leaning over Tommy's pale, bloody face. "You drank my wine. You called Elisa your sister. And you left her to die on a cold dirt road on the Palisades."

"Dante... please..." Tommy choked out, his eyes bulging as dark red spots filled his vision. "Forgive... me..."

"Forgiveness is between you and God," Dante said, his voice dropping into an icy, final register. "My job is to arrange the meeting."

Dante pulled his heavy silver 1911 pistol from his shoulder holster, pressed the cold barrel directly against the center of Tommy Grimaldi's forehead, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The gunshot echoed through the quiet study, cutting off Tommy's breathing instantly.

The body went limp against the shattered glass desk.

Dante stood up slowly, holstering his weapon. He pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and casually wiped a drop of blood from his cheek.

Bruno Vance walked into the study, his pistol held low at his side. He looked at Tommy's lifeless body, then at Dante's bleeding shoulder.

"Are you alright, Boss?" Bruno asked softly.

"I'm fine," Dante replied, looking around the ruined study that had once belonged to his father. "Is the house secure?"

"The Caruso mercenaries are dead or running," Bruno reported. "Your soldiers have secured the entire property. The city police won't interfere—Chief Harrington knows better than to cross us tonight."

"Good," Dante said, stepping over the glass on the floor. "Burn the Caruso vehicles. Throw Tommy's body into the river. Clean this hall before sunrise."

"And Marco Caruso?" Bruno asked.

"Send him back to his father in a wooden crate with a message," Dante ordered. "Tell Don Caruso that the price for peace in New York is the entire Brooklyn waterfront. If he refuses, I will wipe his family off the map."

Dante walked out of the study, stepping back into the grand hall.

He stopped in front of the large oil portrait of Elisa.

The canvas had been grazed by a bullet near the bottom frame, but Elisa’s face remained untouched—her honey-colored eyes still gleaming with that soft, eternal lamplight.