Chapter 2 - The Housekeeper’s ConfessionInside the grand study, the fireplace crackled, casting dancing shadows over the mahogany bookshelves. Isabella was resting upstairs, her legs wrapped in warm blankets under the care of a trusted nurse, though she was wide awake, staring at her own feet in quiet awe.
Downstairs, Sophia sat on the edge of a velvet chair, her hands trembling around a cup of black coffee I had poured her.
"My mother was Elena’s wet nurse in Sicily, long before you two ever met," Sophia began, her voice cracking. "When your wife came to America, she brought my family with her to keep a piece of home close. Elena trusted no one. Except you... and him."
"Dominic," I spat out the name like poison.
My younger brother. The man who had wept at Elena's funeral. The man I had made second-in-command of the entire syndicate, believing his grief mirrored my own.
"He wasn't grieving, boss," Sophia whispered, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks. "He was celebrating. The night of the ambush, it wasn't a rival syndicate that tipped off the hitmen. It was Dominic. He wanted the ports, he wanted the syndicate, and above all... he wanted Elena."
I slammed my fist against the oak desk. The solid wood splintered beneath my knuckles.
"If this is a lie, Sophia..."
"It’s no lie," a calm, chilling voice echoed from the doorway.
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We both whipped our heads around. Standing in the entrance of the study, holding a silenced Beretta 9mm, was Luca—my chief enforcer and Dominic's shadow for the past decade.
And right behind him, stepping out of the shadows with a cold, triumphant smile, was my brother.
