The Mafia Boss Found His Maid’s Little Girl Under His Desk, but the Mark on Her Neck Revealed the Betrayal Buried Inside His Family for Twenty-Five Years

The wine cellars beneath the mansion were cold, dark, and smelled of oak barrels and wet stone.

Victor Moretti stumbled through the narrow brick passages, clutching his wounded arm, his boots splashing in pools of water from the storm leaks above. He reached the reinforced holding cell where Christopher Russo was being held.

The two guards outside the cell had already been killed by Moretti’s lead scout, who was currently trying to shoot out the electronic keypad on the iron door.

"Hurry up, damn it!" Moretti screamed, looking back down the dark corridor. "Russo is right behind us!"

Click.

The sound of a gun cocking echoed from the shadows at the far end of the hallway.

Moretti spun around, raising his carbine rifle, but a single shot rang through the narrow cellar. The bullet struck Moretti’s scout directly between the eyes, dropping him instantly to the stone floor.

Moretti raised his hands, dropping his rifle, backed up against the iron cell door.

Dominic stepped out from the darkness, his pistol pointed directly at Moretti’s chest. His face was covered in gunsmoke soot, his shirt stained with blood, his eyes utterly devoid of mercy.

"Dominic... wait!" Moretti gasped, his voice trembling violently. "It was Christopher’s idea! He contacted us three days ago! He offered us fifty percent of the Midwest distribution if we took you out and secured the girl!"

"I know," Dominic said quietly.

Inside the cell, Christopher pressed his face against the small reinforced glass window, his voice muffled by the thick door. "Dominic! Let me out! I can give you the New York access codes! We can rule the entire East Coast together!"

Dominic turned his head slightly to look at his uncle through the glass. "You broke our mother's heart, Christopher. You made my sister sleep on a cot in an orphanage while you drank my father's scotch. There is no deal."

Dominic turned back to Moretti. "You brought war to my home. You threatened my sister's child."

"Dominic, please!" Moretti pleaded, falling to his knees on the damp stone floor. "I’ll leave Chicago! I’ll never come back! I swear it on my mother's grave!"

Dominic looked down at the man who had ordered the assault on his family. He remembered Isabelle’s voice in the panic room: Don't let him turn you into a monster.

Dominic slowly lowered his weapon.

Moretti gasped in relief, letting out a breath he thought would be his last.

"You're not dying here, Moretti," Dominic said, his voice cold and absolute. "The Federal Bureau of Investigation is currently surrounding the outer perimeter of my estate. My legal team has already transferred twenty years of encrypted wiretaps and financial ledgers detailing your entire New York organization directly to the Special Agent in Charge."

Moretti’s face turned ghostly pale. "You... you called the Feds?"

"I called everyone," Dominic replied smoothly. "By tomorrow morning, every asset, every property, and every soldier under your command will be seized by the United States government. You won't be a Don anymore, Victor. You'll be inmate number 40892."

Heavy tactical boots echoed down the cellar stairs behind them. A dozen FBI SWAT agents, clad in dark blue gear with flashlights blazing, swept into the corridor.

"FBI! Hands in the air! Drop to the ground now!"

Dominic calmly set his weapon on a wooden wine barrel, raised his hands, and stepped back as the agents tackled Moretti to the floor and smashed through the cell door to place Christopher Russo in heavy iron cuffs.

Christopher screamed profanities as he was dragged out of the cell, glaring at his nephew with pure, unadulterated hatred. "You ruined us, Dominic! You destroyed the family!"