Maid’s Toddler Touched the Mafia Boss’s Leg Brace—Then He Felt the Strap Was Wrong

Ten minutes later, the glass doors of the grand conference room slid open.

Arthur Voss, a fifty-year-old underboss with slicked-back gray hair and a three-thousand-dollar tailored suit, stood up at the head of the walnut table. He held a leather-bound binder in his hands, looking around at the five other council members with an air of sad, theatrical pity.

"Dominic," Arthur said smoothly, his voice carrying through the room. "We’ve been waiting for forty minutes. If your health is making it too difficult to attend our quarterly review, we can execute the temporary transfer of power without you standing. There is no shame in admitting your body is tired."

Dominic stepped into the conference room.

He wasn't using his cane.

Though every step sent a dull ache through his calf, the excruciating, burning nerve pain was entirely gone. Dominic had stripped the rigged lower buckle off his leg, leaving the brace functioning as a simple, basic support frame.

The five council members gasped in shock.

Arthur Voss’s polite, artificial smile instantly froze. His eyes dropped to Dominic’s left leg, then flicked wildly toward the door, where Vincent Hale stood holding a small plastic biohazard bag containing the sabotaged micro-latch.

Dominic walked to the head of the table, his stride steady, powerful, and deliberate. He placed both hands flat on the polished walnut surface, leaning over Arthur.

"You look disappointed, Arthur," Dominic whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal authority. "Did you expect me to crawl in here on a stretcher?"

"Dominic... I don't know what you mean," Arthur stammered, stepping back slightly, a thin bead of cold sweat forming on his temple. "We were only concerned for your recovery—"

Dominic reached into his coat, pulled out a stack of financial documents provided by Vincent five minutes earlier, and slammed them onto the table.

"Dr. Harrison’s offshore account in the Cayman Islands received a four-hundred-thousand-dollar wire transfer three weeks ago," Dominic said calmly. "The same day he brought me this brace. Sent from a shell company registered to your brother-in-law, Arthur."

The room went dead silent. The five council members turned to stare at Arthur with expressions of utter disgust and rising panic.

Arthur’s face turned ash-gray. He reached for his jacket pocket, but before his fingers could touch fabric, Vincent Hale racked the slide of his firearm, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against the back of Arthur’s neck.

"Take him down to the basement holding area," Dominic commanded without raising his voice. "Search his phones, seize his assets, and find Dr. Harrison before he reaches the airport."