My mother imprisoned my young pregnant wife inside a hidden room beneath our mafia estate, convinced her I had abandoned her, and left her wedding ring inside our baby's

I did not take the service stairs. I took the grand marble staircase, my heavy combat boots leaving smeared tracks of rainwater and guard's blood across the pristine Italian tile.

The grand chandelier illuminated the great hall in golden, mocking brilliance. At the far end of the room, seated upon a high-backed velvet armchair beside a roaring fireplace, Donna Caterina Rossi sat calmly sipping an espresso. Her diamond bracelets clinked against the porcelain saucer.

She did not flinch when I kicked open the carved oak double doors. She didn't even look up when the splintered wood slammed against the stone walls.

"You always were reckless, Dante," she said, her voice smooth as chilled silk. "Just like your father. He, too, let his temper ruin his suits."

"Where is the keycard, Mother?"

She took a slow sip, setting the cup down on the marble end table. "I heard gunshots in the west wing. You killed Marco and Enzo. Loyal men who have served this family for a decade."

"They were dogs who took orders to butcher my wife," I said, stepping closer. The smell of gunsmoke radiating off my jacket filled the warm air of the parlor. "You have five seconds to hand over the clearance to the sub-crypt, or I will dismantle this house room by room, starting with you."

Caterina finally raised her eyes. They were cold, gray, and devoid of a single ounce of maternal warmth.

"Your wife," she sneered, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. "That weak, pathetic orphan from the city. You are the head of the largest syndicate in Southern Europe, Dante! You command armies. You move billions. And yet you let a nobody with big doe eyes turn you into a sentimental fool!"

"She is my wife. She carries my blood."

"She carries a distraction!" Caterina shouted, rising to her feet, her composure fracturing for the first time. "A Don cannot have a soft underbelly! You spent six months abroad hesitating, making concessions, rushing peace talks just so you could fly home to hold her hand while she vomited in the morning! She weakened you! The council saw it! The Morettis saw it!"

I took two massive strides forward, closing the space between us until I loomed over her. My hand shot out, wrapping around her throat with just enough pressure to pin her against the mantle.

"You don't care about the syndicate," I whispered into her face, my voice deadly and steady. "You care about control. My father died, and instead of stepping aside for his heir, you wanted a puppet. Grace wouldn't let you control me. So you decided to steal my son and raise him into a weapon you could hold."

Caterina gasped for air, clawing at my wrist with manicured nails, but her eyes remained filled with venomous defiance. "You won't kill me... I am your mother... Cosa Nostra forbids matricide..."

"Cosa Nostra forbids touching the Don's wife and unborn heir," I replied coldly. "You broke the code first."

With my free hand, I reached inside her tailored white blazer, ripping the platinum security keycard from her breast pocket. I shoved her back into the armchair. She slumped into the cushions, coughing violently, her regal mask shattered.

"You're too late, Dante," she wheezed, laughing bitterly through her bruised throat. "Vance started the extraction an hour ago. By now, the baby is cut from her belly. And Grace... Grace has bled out on cold stone. You will find nothing down there but a corpse and a bastard."