The mafia boss's baby stopped screaming for the waitress, but what she found in his bottle made his father go pale

The cellar beneath the Russo estate was not a dusty wine room; it was a reinforced concrete bunker built during the Prohibition era, outfitted with soundproofed walls, steel security doors, and surveillance monitors covering every square inch of the property.

In the center of the room sat a massive oak table beneath a single overhead halogen light.

Vincent Russo sat at the far end of the table, his silk tie loosened, looking distinctly annoyed. “Dominic, it’s four in the morning. What is this theatrical nonsense? Some lunatic breaks in through the terrace and you wake up the entire household?”

Beside him, Elena was wrapped in a designer cashmere robe, her arms crossed over her chest, shivering slightly despite the room’s climate control. Her eyes darted nervously around the armed guards standing silently against the walls.

“Where is Dr. Evans?” Elena demanded, her voice shrill. “You had him detained, didn't you? Dominic, this is madness! You’re acting like a paranoid lunatic!”

The heavy steel door swung open.

Dominic walked in, wearing a fresh black shirt. Beside him walked Sophie, carrying Leo wrapped in a warm blanket. Dominic had refused to leave them upstairs, even behind reinforced locks. In Dominic’s world, safety only existed within arm’s reach of his weapon.

Dominic pulled out a chair for Sophie, waiting until she was seated before taking his place at the head of the table.

He didn't speak. He reached into his pocket and placed three items onto the oak surface.

The first was a shattered glass vial, recovered by forensics from the nursery floor.

The second was a thick manila folder stamped with the seal of the Cook County Medical Examiner.

The third was a gold-plated Rolex watch, stained with dried blood.

Vincent’s eyes landed on the watch. His breath caught for a split second before his face smoothed over into practiced indifference. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“The watch belonged to Dr. Evans,” Dominic said quietly, clasping his hands on the table. “Angelo found him forty-five minutes ago at an executive airfield in Gary, Indiana. He was boarding a private charter to Grand Cayman. In his luggage, he had three passports, two hundred thousand dollars in bearer bonds, and an encrypted hard drive.”

Elena’s face drained of color. “He was... fleeing?”

“He was running,” Dominic said, leaning forward. “Because he knew his assistant, Marcus, was going to be caught in my nursery with a syringe of potassium chloride.”

Dominic opened the manila folder, sliding a series of glossy photographs across the table toward Vincent.

“Three months ago, Isabella died in a car crash on I-90,” Dominic continued, his voice cold and steady as a funeral bell. “The official police report said her brakes failed due to mechanical wear. But Evans’s hard drive had the real data. Encrypted emails between his private account and a mechanic in Cicero.”

Sophie watched Vincent’s hands. The younger Russo wasn't touching his drink anymore. His fingers were trembling slightly against his knee.

“Isabella found out what you were doing, Vincent,” Dominic said softly.

Vincent sneered, leaning back. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

“She found the offshore accounts,” Dominic revealed. “You were skimming twenty million dollars a month from the port logistics division. You were laundering it through Evans’s private clinics. When Isabella realized you were stealing from Leo’s trust fund, she threatened to bring the ledger to me. So you had her brakes cut.”

“That’s an outrageous lie!” Elena shrieked, slamming her hand on the table. “Vincent loved Isabella! We all loved her!”

“Did you, Elena?” Sophie spoke up, her voice cutting through Elena’s hysteria.

Elena glared at her with pure venom. “Shut up, you peasant! You have no standing here!”

“Look at the bank transfers in that folder, Elena,” Sophie said calmly, pointing at the documents. “Four million dollars were wired into an account in Zurich under the name Elena Vance three days before Isabella’s car went off the bridge. You didn't just know about it. You helped Vincent plan it. You wanted Dominic’s money, and you thought with Isabella gone, you could slide into her place as mistress of this house.”

Elena choked, her eyes widening in horror as she looked at Dominic. “Dominic... no... she’s lying! She’s trying to divide us! She’s a nurse with a grudge against Evans!”

“Evans sang like a canary the moment Angelo broke his first finger,” Dominic said, not a trace of mercy in his voice. “He confessed to everything. The forged records that framed Sophie at St. Jude’s—because Sophie was asking too many questions about the narcotics missing from Evans’s inventory. The digitalis in Leo’s formula. And the plan for tonight.”

Dominic stood up, placing both hands flat on the table, towering over his cousin.

“The plan was simple, wasn't it, Vincent?” Dominic whispered. “Kill Isabella. Slowly sicken Leo until his heart gave out. When the child died of an ‘unfortunate genetic defect,’ the entire two-billion-dollar Russo estate would transfer to you. And with Evans signing the death certificates, nobody would ever question it.”

Vincent’s mask of charm finally shattered.

His face twisted into an ugly, sneering snarl. He didn't look at the guards. He looked Dominic dead in the eye, pure hatred burning in his chest.

“You never deserved any of it!” Vincent spat, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “Our grandfather built this empire! My father bled for it! And your father gave everything to you—just because you were the oldest! You spend all your time pretending to be a legitimate businessman, hiding behind suits and charities, while I did the real work!”

Vincent glared at the baby in Sophie’s arms.

“That miserable bastard isn't an heir! He’s a weak, fragile little parasite! If you had any balls, Dominic, you would have let him die weeks ago and spared us the humiliation!”

The room went dead silent.

Even Elena shrank back in terror at Vincent’s words.

Dominic didn't yell. He didn't lose control.

He slowly reached into his holster, pulled out his .45, and laid it quietly on the oak table in front of Vincent.