88I came home early and nearly fired the young maid I found sitting on my kitchen floor, making my three daughters laugh for the first time since their mother was murdered. But before I could throw her out, my eldest daughter grabbed my coat, looked me straight in the eyes, and spoke her first words in fourteen months: “Daddy killed Mommy.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, throwing red light over the drawing on my desk.

My mind raced through the memory of that terrible afternoon fourteen months ago.

I had been in Manhattan, attending a emergency board meeting at Russo Enterprises, when the call came through from my security team. The ambush had happened at 3:15 p.m. When I arrived at the Queens crime scene twenty minutes later, the rain was pouring, red police lights were flashing, and Isabella’s body was already covered by a white sheet inside the shattered SUV.

My silver watch—the one Lucia had pointed at—had gone missing two weeks prior.

I had assumed I mislaid it at my penthouse or left it in my private office. But now, looking at Lucia’s drawing, the truth hit me with the force of a freight train.

The man who killed Isabella hadn't just ambushed her. He had worn my watch intentionally so that if my daughters survived, their trauma would make them believe their own father was the executioner.

It wasn't just a murder. It was a psychological execution meant to break me from the inside out.

I raised my eyes to look at Clara Vance. "Who else has seen these drawings?"

"No one," Clara replied quietly. "Lucia keeps them hidden beneath the lining of her toy chest. She only showed them to me four days ago after she realized I wasn't going to report everything they did to your guards."

"You should have come to me immediately," I said, my voice hardening.

"To you?" Clara let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Mr. Russo, with all due respect, you've been a ghost in this house. When you are here, you look at those girls like they're reminders of your failure, not your daughters. They were terrified that if they spoke, the man with the watch would come back to finish the job."

Her words cut deeper than any blade I had ever faced in the streets.

I slammed my palm onto the desk, standing up to my full height. "I spent fourteen months destroying the men who did this!"

"You destroyed the soldiers, Mr. Russo!" Clara shouted back, stepping right up to the edge of the desk, refusing to back down. "You didn't look for the rat inside your own walls! Who had access to your private study two weeks before your wife was killed? Who could walk into your home and steal a watch from your desk without triggering a single alarm?!"

The room went dead silent.

I stared at her, my blood turning into ice.

She was right.

The Mendoza cartel couldn't have breached my private security systems in Long Island. They didn't have the codes. They didn't have the keycards. The only people who had access to my study were the five members of my inner circle—the men who controlled my shipping lines, my security detail, my legal defense, and my financial empire.

My phone rang on the desk, shattering the quiet.

I looked down at the screen. The caller ID displayed the name of my most trusted lieutenant, Julian Mercer—the man who had run my security operations for twelve years and held the master codes to every property I owned.

"Dominic?" Julian’s smooth, gravelly voice came through the speaker. "Marco told me you landed early. Is everything alright at the estate?"

I looked at Clara. She held my gaze, her hazel eyes completely steady.

"Everything is fine, Julian," I said, forcing my voice into a calm, nonchalant tone. "Just handling some household matters."

"Glad to hear it," Julian replied smoothly. "Don't forget we have the shipment clearance from the docks coming in tomorrow midnight. I've personally arranged the security convoy."

"Good," I said. "I'll be there to oversee it myself."