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Your Heart Is Sad, Mister,” the Maid’s Toddler Whispered to the Mafia Boss—Then She Said Something That Broke Him / Chapter 14 / 20

Chapter 14

Back at the estate, the atmosphere was entirely transformed. Rosa, the longtime cook who had spent decades walking on eggshells around the grieving mafia boss, was actually humming as she prepared dinner in the main kitchen.

Elena was organizing the library on the second floor when Antonio walked in, holding a stack of old leather-bound ledgers.

“The Costa syndicate has officially dissolved their operations in our territory,” Antonio said, placing the documents on the oak desk.

Elena stopped dusting, turning to look at him. A complex mix of emotions crossed her face. “Does that mean… your life is going to change? The danger—does it ever truly stop?”

“The underworld doesn't stop,” Antonio admitted candidly, walking closer. “But how I navigate it does. For five years, I ran this house like a prison because I thought letting go of the pain meant letting go of my son. I was wrong.”

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

Elena held his gaze, her heart skipping a beat at the raw vulnerability in his voice. “You’re healing, Antonio.”

“Because of a very persistent three-year-old doctor,” he replied, a faint smile touching his lips.

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