The Mafia Boss Secretly Watched A Little Girl Clean His Office With A Baby On Her Back

I bounded up the narrow stone stairs two at a time, holding Elena tightly against my chest. Her fingers clutched my shirt like iron talons, her ragged breaths warm and terrified against my neck.

"Stay quiet," I growled softly, my boots slamming onto the wooden floor as I burst back into the study through the open bookcase panel.

The study was no longer empty.

Standing near my mahogany desk was Silvio Duca.

He was fifty-eight years old, immaculate as always in a tailored charcoal suit, his graying hair combed back slick against his skull. But the usual calm, calculated mask he wore was completely shattered. In his right hand, he held a silenced 9mm pistol, pointed directly at the floor where Mia Harper was kneeling, shielding her little sister with her small body.

Standing beside Silvio were two of my top house enforcers—men I had trusted to guard the outer gates.

Silvio turned his head as the bookcase swung wide. When his eyes landed on me—and on the starved, shivering woman cradled in my arms—his jaw tightened into a vicious, ugly line.

"Roman," Silvio said smoothly, though the slight tremble in his gun hand betrayed him. "You were supposed to be in Providence until dawn."

"And you were supposed to be loyal to the Duca name," I replied, my voice dropping into a register so dark, so heavy, that even the two enforcers beside him took a subtle step back.

I walked slowly across the room, carrying Elena toward the long leather sofa near the fireplace. I laid her down gently, wrapping my coat tighter around her shoulders, before turning back to face my uncle. I placed myself directly between Silvio’s gun and the little girl huddled on the floor.

"You kidnapped Thomas Vance's daughter," I said flatly, my eyes locking onto Silvio’s. "You hid her in my private walls. You framed me for a war that cost twelve of our men their lives in August. And you threatened a six-year-old child and her sick mother to keep your little secret safe."

Silvio let out a dry, bitter laugh. "A war? That wasn't a war, Roman. That was business! You're soft! You spent five years trying to make our shipping lines 'legitimate.' You let Providence push us out of the northern piers because you didn't have the stomach to bleed them! I built a plan that would have handed us the entire East Coast by winter!"

"By locking a girl in a cage under my floor?" I stepped forward, one deliberate pace at a time. "By making my house a prison?"

"This house was built on blood!" Silvio spat, his face flushing dark red. "Your father understood that! He built that cell! I just put it to good use!"

He suddenly raised his pistol, snapping the sightline straight toward my chest.

"It doesn't matter," Silvio sneered. "You found her too early. But it changes nothing. The enforcers on this floor are loyal to my payroll, Roman. You die tonight in a tragic home invasion by Providence hitmen. I take the chair, I return Elena's body to Thomas Vance, and I take total control of the syndicate."

I didn't flinch. I didn't look down at the red laser dot that suddenly appeared on the center of my white dress shirt.

"You made one mistake, Uncle," I said quietly.

Silvio’s eyes narrowed. "What's that?"

"You forgot to check who was on duty at the front gate."

Before Silvio could react, the grand double doors of the study were violently thrown open!

A wall of black-clad tactical enforcers poured into the room like a wave of iron. At the head of the unit was Viktor—my head of personal security, the man who had been with me since my days in Italy. Twenty heavy weapons cleared their holsters simultaneously, the sightlines locking onto Silvio and his two rogue guards.

"Drop the weapon!" Viktor barked, his voice echoing like thunder through the high ceilings.

Silvio’s eyes went wide with pure horror. He looked at the two enforcers beside him, but both men immediately threw their guns onto the rug and raised their hands in the air.

"No... no!" Silvio gasped, his arm shaking violently as he realized his coup had collapsed in a matter of seconds. "Viktor! I am the underboss of this family!"

"You are a dead man standing," Viktor said coldly. "Boss... your order?"

I looked at my uncle. The man who had sat at my father's table, the man who had hugged me when my mother died, the man who had turned my home into a house of horror.

"Take him to the basement," I said softly, my tone devoid of any human warmth. "Not the cell. The cold room. We will deal with him after I speak to Thomas Vance."

"Roman! You can't do this! I am a Duca!" Silvio screamed as four guards grabbed his arms, dragging him out of the room, his shouts fading down the long hallway until silence returned.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the crushing weight of the last two hours pressing down on my shoulders.

Then I turned around.

Mia was still sitting on the floor, holding her sleeping sister against her chest. Her small face was pale, her eyes wide as saucers, but she hadn't cried once.

I walked over to her, sinking down onto one knee so we were at eye level.

"Mia," I said softly.

"Is the crying lady safe now?" she asked, her voice small and delicate in the silent room.

"She's safe," I said. "Because of you. If you hadn't heard her... if you hadn't told me... she never would have gone home."