The Mafia Boss Tested His Maid With $20,000—But Her Little Boy Gave Him the One Thing Money Couldn’t Buy

Among the prisoners my men captured in the foyer was Marco Bellandi’s younger brother, Anthony.

Half an hour after the gunfire ceased, I sat in my private study across from Anthony Bellandi, who was tied securely to a heavy oak chair. His nose was broken, and his expensive leather jacket was torn.

Elena sat on the leather sofa near the fire, holding Caleb, who had finally fallen asleep under the warmth of a plush blanket. She refused to leave the room. She wanted to look the men who had threatened her family directly in the eye.

"Where is Marco?" I asked Anthony, my voice deathly calm.

Anthony spat blood onto the rug. "Go to hell, Moretti. You think you won? The feds are coming for your whole organization!"

"The feds are currently seizing your brother’s offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands," I replied smoothly, holding up a sleek black flash drive. "Do you know what this is?"

Anthony’s eyes widened in sudden terror. "Where... where did you get that?"

"While you were busy trying to breach my panic room," I explained, "Luca sent a tactical team to a private storage facility in Queens. Locker 402."

Elena gasped softly. "Locker 402... That was Daniel’s personal lockbox..."

"Your late husband was a smart man, Elena," I said, looking at her gently. "He knew Bellandi’s men were watching his house. So he hid the original digital audit files—along with Marco Bellandi’s private ledger—in a subway storage locker registered under Caleb’s middle name."

I turned back to Anthony Bellandi.

"This drive contains the full recorded wiretaps of Marco ordering the hit on Daniel Hale," I said, every word dropping like a heavy iron weight. "It contains the bank routing numbers for the bribe money paid to Dr. Vance to tamper with pediatric heart medications. And it contains the GPS tracking data for Marco’s private boat anchored off Shelter Island."

Anthony’s face went chalk-white. "You... you have everything..."

"I have enough to put your entire family in federal prison for three lifetimes," I said. "But Marco didn't just break the law. He tried to kill a child in my home."

I stood up and pulled a heavy black envelope from my coat pocket, tossing it onto the desk in front of Anthony.

"Inside that envelope is a choice," I told him. "Option one: I hand this flash drive to the United States Attorney’s Office in Manhattan, and your family spends the rest of their natural lives in supermax isolation."

"And... and option two?" Anthony whispered, sweating profusely.

"Option two," I said, leaning over the desk until my face was inches from his, "is that you call Marco right now. You tell him that the assault on my estate succeeded. You tell him to meet you at the dock on Shelter Island to collect Elena Hale and the ledger."