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 main drawing room of the Moretti estate was bathed in shadow. Heavy velvet drapes blocked out the morning light, leaving only the amber glow of the marble fireplace to illuminate the room.

Lorenzo Moretti stood in the center of the Persian rug, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat and a smug smile. He was thirty-five, sharp-featured, with slicked-back dark hair and a gold watch that matched Dominic’s.

Behind him stood four heavy-set bodyguards.

Dominic sat in a high-backed leather wing chair across from his cousin, swirling two fingers of scotch in a crystal glass. I stood in the shadowed alcove near the kitchen entrance, holding a tray of coffee, keeping out of sight as Dominic had instructed.

"Dominic, cousin," Lorenzo said, holding his hands out in a gesture of false concern. "I heard rumors across the city that the party ended early. That there was an emergency with little Ethan. I came as fast as I could."

"Did you?" Dominic asked smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I didn't realize news traveled to Brooklyn so quickly."

Lorenzo’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second before recovering. "You know how the family talks. We were worried. Is the boy alright?"

"Ethan is fine," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "A minor incident in the kitchen. A piece of spoiled fruit."

"Ah," Lorenzo nodded, taking a step closer. "Good. Good. But putting the whole estate on lockdown over spoiled fruit? The lieutenants are nervous, Dominic. They think you're getting paranoid. First you lock down after Isabella died, and now this?"

Dominic set his glass down on the mahogany side table with a sharp clink.

"I am never paranoid, Lorenzo," Dominic said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "I am thorough."

He signaled with his left hand.

Instantly, the heavy oak doors of the drawing room slammed shut. Six of Dominic’s personal guards stepped out from behind the tapestries, their automatic rifles raised and aimed directly at Lorenzo’s bodyguards.

Lorenzo’s men reached for their holsters, but Michael stepped out from the corner, racking the slide of his shotgun.

"Don't," Michael warned.

Lorenzo’s face turned gray. He looked at Dominic, his former confidence vanishing. "Dominic! What is the meaning of this? I am your blood! I am your cousin!"

"Where is your silver ring, Lorenzo?" Dominic asked softly.

Lorenzo instinctively pulled his right hand back into his coat pocket. "What?"

"The ring your uncle gave you when you turned twenty-one," Dominic continued, his voice dropping an octave. "The one with the Falcone crest. You've worn it on your thumb for fifteen years. But today, your hand is bare."

Lorenzo swallowed hard, cold sweat pooling along his jawline. "I... I sent it to be cleaned yesterday."

"Liar," Dominic growled, standing up. He towered over Lorenzo, his dark eyes radiating a lethal intent. "Yesterday at 6:40 PM, a man wearing that exact ring entered my cold room and dusted peanut extract over my son's birthday cake. A three-year-old girl saw your face, Lorenzo."

Lorenzo’s eyes darted frantically toward the exit, realizing he was completely cornered.

"He offered me half of Brooklyn!" Lorenzo screamed suddenly, his composure shattering into unhinged rage. "The Falcones promised me control of the docks if Ethan was taken out of the picture! You were soft, Dominic! Ever since your wife died, you’ve been spending more time playing father than ruling this city! The syndicate was falling apart under your hands!"

Dominic walked right up to his cousin. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply reached out, grabbed Lorenzo by the throat with one hand, and lifted him off his feet, slamming him hard against the oak wall paneling.

Lorenzo choked, his eyes bulging as he clawed at Dominic’s iron grip.

"You targeted an eight-year-old child," Dominic whispered, his face inches from Lorenzo’s. "You brought poison into my home."

"Dominic... please... family..." Lorenzo choked out.

"Family died the moment you touched my son," Dominic said.

He turned his head slightly toward Michael. "Take his men to the basement. As for Lorenzo... take him to the warehouse by the river. I will join you shortly."

Michael nodded. "Yes, Boss."

As Dominic’s guards disarmed Lorenzo’s men and dragged a sobbing, pleading Lorenzo out through the rear service exit, the drawing room fell silent once more.

I stepped out from the shadows, the silver coffee tray trembling slightly in my hands. I had worked for the nobility of the mob world for years, but seeing the raw, cold efficiency of Dominic’s justice firsthand was terrifying.

Dominic turned around. The murderous rage on his face softened the moment his eyes landed on me.

"You shouldn't have seen that, Clara," he said gently, stepping closer and taking the heavy silver tray from my hands, setting it on the table.

"He was your cousin," I whispered, looking into his eyes.

"He was a snake," Dominic corrected firmly. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a bead of cold sweat from my forehead. "The Falcones thought they could break me from the inside. They don't know who I am."

"What happens now?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs.