omg The most feared mafia boss in Chicago came home three hours early and found his housekeeper secretly feeding four identical little boys at the dining table no one had touched since his wife died. He was about to demand an explanation when one boy pointed at him and asked, “Elena, is that the man from the picture?” The spoon fell from her hand.

By 4:00 AM, the emergency war room at my downtown penthouse was buzzing with activity.

Large monitors displayed financial maps, wiretaps, and tactical layouts of Valerio Moretti’s properties across Illinois and Indiana.

Dominic stood near the main screen, pointing to a series of highlighted shipping docks along the Chicago River. "Valerio has gone into hiding at his fortified compound in Lake Forest. He's called in favors from the Detroit partnership and the Kansas City families. He's framing this as a rogue boss going crazy over an internal family dispute."

"Let him frame it however he wants," I said, staring at the live satellite feed of Valerio's estate. "How many men does he have at the Lake Forest property?"

"At least thirty heavy enforcers," Dominic answered grimly. "Plus, he's holding an emergency meeting of the Chicago Commission at 10:00 AM tomorrow at the Drake Hotel. He's planning to present forged documents showing you're mentally unfit to lead the family due to the 'hallucination' of having secret children."

I let out a harsh, dry laugh. "He thinks I'm going to play politics while my sons are hiding in a safehouse?"

"Alejandro," Dominic warned cautiously. "If you attack the Drake Hotel during a Commission meeting, every mob boss in the Midwest will declare open season on us. It violates the 1975 Accord."

"The Accord was made to protect businessmen," I snapped, leaning over the table. "Valerio broke every rule written in blood when he targeted a pregnant woman and four toddlers. The Commission will either stand with me, or they will fall with Valerio."

Just then, my personal phone buzzed. It was a secure text message from an unknown encrypted number.

Attached was a photo.

It was a picture taken through a high-powered sniper scope, aimed directly at the window of the Naperville safehouse bedroom where my sons were sleeping.

My heart stopped beating.

Below the photo was a simple message: Sign over the Moretti Logistics Group and the bank trusts by 9:00 AM, or the four little birds stop singing. - V.

A cold, blinding fury—darker and more absolute than anything I had ever felt—settled into my bones. Valerio hadn't just threatened my life; he had put a crosshair on my children’s bedroom window.

"Dominic," I said, my voice dead, emotionless, and terrifyingly calm.

"Yes, boss?"

"Call Marco. Tell him to move the boys into the subterranean bunker beneath the penthouse immediately. No one enters or leaves without my personal voice authorization."

"And you, boss?"