His Fiancée Forgot To Hang Up—Then The Mafia Boss Heard Her Threatening The Maid

The tires of the armored Cadillac hummed against the wet asphalt of Bellevue Avenue, cutting through the thick fog drifting off Newport Harbor. Dominic Virelli sat in the back, his hands clasped over the silver head of his walking cane. His reflection in the tinted glass remained entirely motionless, but his thoughts were calculating with absolute precision.

He knew every corner of the Virelli estate. He had bought the cliffside mansion four years ago to shield his mother, Isabella, after the bloody coup in Boston had taken his father's life and ruined her voice. He had surrounded her with thirty feet of sea wall, private security, and medical staff. Yet, the deadliest threat had walked through the front door wearing a diamond ring he had paid for himself.

His phone buzzed softly against his palm. It was Carlo.

"Boss," Carlo’s rough, low voice filtered through the encrypted line. "We’re outside St. Anastasia. The boy is in the car with us."

Dominic’s jaw set. "Did anyone follow him?"

"Two men in a grey sedan were parked across from the side gate. Maro’s contractors," Carlo replied, a cold edge to his tone. "They didn't even get a chance to put the car in drive. My boys handled them quietly in the alley. The kid thinks he won a special school tour. He’s drinking a juice box in the back of my SUV right now, completely unaware."

"Take him to the safehouse in Providence," Dominic instructed quietly. "Put four men on the perimeter. Call Marin's cell from a burner line, let her hear his voice for five seconds so she knows he is safe, but tell her to stay inside the mansion and act normal."

"Understood, Boss. What about Miss Morrow?"

Dominic looked out at the wrought-iron gates of the estate appearing through the rain ahead. "Vivien thinks she commands this house. Let her enjoy her authority for a little longer."

He cut the connection as the vehicle slowed to a stop before the grand entrance of Villa Rosa. The sea spray swept over the stone driveway, mixing with the gentle patter of rain on the ancient slate roof.

Dominic stepped out, his tall frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the warm, amber glow of the porch lights. A young footman rushed forward with an umbrella, but Dominic brushed him aside, walking steadily into the marble foyer.

The house was quiet, filled with the faint scent of beeswax, old books, and the lavender oil his mother favored.

Vivien was standing near the grand staircase, wearing a tailored cream dress that emphasized her graceful posture. She was adjusting a arrangement of white lilies in a crystal vase. When she saw him, her face melted into an exquisite expression of relief and affection.

"Darling," she murmured, walking toward him with open arms, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. "You're back early. I was just making sure the flower arrangements for tomorrow night were perfect."

Dominic did not pull away when she leaned in to kiss his cheek, but he did not lean forward either. His skin felt like marble against her lips.

"Is my mother sleeping?" Dominic asked, his voice smooth, completely devoid of any trace of what he had heard thirty minutes prior.

Vivien smiled smoothly, reaching out to pat his lapel. "She was a little tired after her afternoon therapy, so I helped Marin settle her into bed. She’s resting peacefully now. You know how frail she gets when the rain comes in."

"Frail," Dominic repeated the word thoughtfully, his dark eyes locked onto Vivien's face. He searched for a tremor in her hands, a twitch in her eyelids, any sign of guilt. There was none. She was a professional. She had been groomed by her father, a disgraced former judge with heavy gambling debts to the Maro syndicate, to play the perfect mob wife.

"Yes," Vivien said softly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Marin was a bit overwhelmed today, poor thing. I had to step in and help manage her schedule. Honestly, Dominic, I'm not sure if Marin is entirely focused lately. She seems... distracted. Maybe her family troubles are getting to her."

Dominic felt a sudden, dangerous heat pulse behind his temples, but his face remained a mask of polite interest. "Is that so?"

"I only say it because I care about your mother's comfort," Vivien added sweetly, taking his arm. "Tomorrow night's dinner with the capos is so important for you. Isabella needs to be completely relaxed when she gives us her blessing."

"She will be," Dominic said softly. He gently unclasped Vivien's hand from his arm. "I'm going to go see her before I head to my study."

"Don't wake her, darling," Vivien cautioned with a gentle laugh.

Dominic didn't answer. He turned and walked down the long, carpeted hallway toward the east wing of the house, where his mother’s quarters were located.

As he approached the heavy oak door, he saw Marin Hayes stepping out into the hallway. She was holding a tray with a teapot and a small glass of water. When her eyes met his, she froze.

She looked pale, her dark hair coming loose from its clip, her navy blue uniform rumpled. The panic in her eyes was raw and exposed, like a animal caught in a trap. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat seemed to lock up.

Dominic paused two feet away from her. He looked at her trembling hands, at the slight shake of the tray she carried.

He didn't speak about the phone call. He didn't ask her about her son. Instead, he reached out, took the heavy silver tray from her hands, and set it down on a nearby side table.

Then, leaning down slightly so only she could hear, he spoke in a whisper that barely carried over the sound of the rain outside.

"Elias is in a blue jacket," Dominic said quietly. "He likes the strawberry juice box best. He is in Providence, safe behind four of my best men."

Marin’s breath hitched violently. Tears welled up in her eyes immediately, her hand rushing to cover her mouth to stop a sob from escaping. She looked at him in total shock, her knees buckling slightly.

Dominic caught her elbow, holding her steady with absolute firmness.

"You do not cry in this house, Marin," he instructed her softly, his dark eyes fierce with a protective fire she had never seen in him before. "You do not bow to her. Go to your room, answer the burner phone when it rings, and listen to your son. Tomorrow, you stand behind my mother’s chair."