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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 3 / 20

Chapter 3

Over the next two weeks, the rigid silence of the Moretti estate began to fray at the edges. Antonio found himself pausing outside hallways, listening for the soft patter of tiny sneakers or the melodic hum of a nursery rhyme that didn’t belong in a house built on blood and debts.

Damen noticed the shift immediately during a late-night briefing in the study.

“You’ve got a civilian running around the halls, Antonio,” Damen warned, leaning against the mahogany desk. “Word travels. The Costa syndicate smells blood if they think you’re getting soft.”

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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.

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“Let them think whatever keeps them awake at night,” Antonio replied coldly, sliding a Beretta into his shoulder holster.

Unknown to both men, Mia had wandered away from her mother’s supervision that afternoon. Following a trail of glittering dust motes down the grand corridor, her small fingers traced the intricate wallpaper of the fourth floor—a zone strictly forbidden to every living soul.

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