66 The first piece of my son’s eighth birthday cake never reached his mouth.

Three days had passed since the incident at Ethan’s birthday party, but the shockwaves were still reverberating through the financial and political landscapes of New York.

Federal indictments against Senator Arthur Vance and Marcus Sterling had leaked to the press within twenty-four hours, triggering a massive media frenzy. Headlines dominated the front pages of The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal: SENATOR ARTHUS VANCE ARRESTED IN DESPICABLE ASSASSINATION PLOT AGAINST MORETTI HEIR.

The political machine that Arthur had spent decades building collapsed overnight like a house of cards. His colleagues rushed to distance themselves from him, issuing public condemnations and calling for maximum prison sentences. The Moretti shipping empire, far from being weakened, emerged stronger than ever as rival corporate syndicates realized that crossing Dominic Moretti was a fatal miscalculation.

I stood behind the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my Manhattan corporate office on the forty-fifth floor, looking out over the sprawling concrete jungle of the city. The morning sun was just beginning to break over the East River, turning the glass skyscrapers into pillars of molten gold.

My phone buzzed on the mahogany desk behind me.

I turned, walked back across the plush Persian rug, and picked up the receiver.

“Report,” I said.

Vincent’s voice came through the secure line, crisp and efficient. “Boss, the federal prosecutor just wrapped up the preliminary depositions for Arthur and Marcus. Both of them are singing like canaries trying to cut plea deals. Arthur is pinning the operational logistics entirely on his brother Julian, claiming he was blackmailed.”

“And Julian?” I asked.

“Interpol picked him up early this morning near the Canadian border in upstate New York. He tried to cross with a fake passport. He’s currently in federal custody in Manhattan, awaiting extradition.”

“Good,” I said coldly. “Make sure our legal team ensures they both spend the rest of their natural lives in a maximum-security federal penitentiary where the sun doesn't shine. No deals. No early parole.”

“Consider it done, boss. Oh, and one more thing—there’s a visitor downstairs in the lobby waiting to see you.”

I frowned, glancing at my digital calendar. I had no meetings scheduled for this early in the morning. “Who?”

“Sophia Carter. And she brought someone with her.”

A faint smile touched my lips. “Send them up.”

Ten minutes later, the private elevator chimed, and the heavy mahogany doors slid open.

Sophia stepped out into the office, dressed in a sharp, professional navy blue blazer and skirt. But she wasn't alone. Clutched tightly in her hand was the small, warm hand of a three-year-old girl wearing a bright yellow dress and brand-new white sneakers with clean velcro straps.

Lily’s dark curls bounced as she looked around the massive, high-ceilinged office with wide, curious eyes. She stopped near the edge of my desk, staring up at me with those intense, fearless dark eyes.

I walked around the desk, knelt down to eye level, and reached into my jacket pocket. I pulled out a small, foil-wrapped package and held it out toward her.

“Strawberry shortcake,” I said. “Approved by Dr. Harris, inspected by security, and completely safe.”

Lily’s eyes lit up. She looked up at her mother for permission, and when Sophia nodded with a soft smile, Lily reached out and took the package from my hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Moretti,” she whispered shyly.

“Thank you, Lily,” I said, reaching out to gently tap the tip of her small nose. “You saved my boy's life. That makes you family now. Anything you or your mother ever need in this city—education, a home, whatever it takes—you only have to ask.”

Sophia smiled, tears of relief shining in her eyes. “Mr. Moretti, we don't need anything more than what we have. We just wanted to come by and make sure you and Ethan were doing well.”