A three-year-old girl destroyed the birthday cake of one of New York’s most feared mafia boss’s sons—and for several terrifying seconds, everyone thought my daughter had just made the worst mistake of her life. Then Lily pointed toward the kitchen and whispered, “A man touched Ethan’s cake,” and Dominic Moretti’s fury turned into something far more frightening.

The master wing occupied the entire top floor of the east structure. It was accessible only via a private elevator requiring biometric verification, guarded twenty-four hours a day by Marcus's most trusted men.

Moving into the suite felt surreal. The rooms were vast, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty Hudson Valley, plush velvet furniture, and a private kitchen fully stocked with organic produce.

Lily, however, was unfazed. By noon, she was sitting cross-legged on the thick Persian rug in Ethan's private playroom, helping him rebuild a giant Lego castle.

Ethan looked paler than usual, a thin white medical bracelet still attached to his wrist, but his face lit up whenever Lily handed him a plastic brick.

"Look, Maya," Ethan called out, pointing to a tower. "Lily built the guardhouse!"

"I see that, sweetie," I smiled, setting down a tray of freshly squeezed apple juice and toasted sandwiches. "Eat slowly, Ethan."

"Is this safe?" Ethan asked quietly, looking up at me with large, anxious brown eyes.

My heart aching for the boy, I took a small bite of the sandwich right in front of him. "I made it myself. I washed every apple, sliced every piece of bread. No one touched it but me."

Ethan let out a long breath and took a small bite.

From the doorway, a low voice spoke up. "You're good with him."

I turned to see Dominic standing against the doorframe, wearing a tailored navy suit. His eyes moved from Ethan to me, softening slightly as he watched his son eat.

"He hasn't eaten a full meal since yesterday," Dominic said, walking into the room.

"He's traumatized," I replied softly, stepping away from the play area so the children couldn't hear us. "He needs to feel safe, Mr. Moretti."

"Dominic," he corrected smoothly. "When we are in this wing, call me Dominic."

I swallowed hard. "Dominic. Have you found out who turned off the corridor cameras?"

Dominic's jaw tightened. "Marcus found a rogue drive plugged into the main server in the basement. It cycled a ten-minute loop of empty hallway footage during the party."

"Who had access to the server room?"

"Only five people," Dominic said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with lethal focus. "Including my head of security, my personal attorney, and two senior house managers. I'm interviewing them one by one tonight."

"And if it's one of them?" I asked, terrified of the answer.