The most feared mafia boss in Chicago came home three hours early and found his housekeeper secretly feeding four identical little boys at the dining table no one had touched since his wife died. He was about to demand an explanation when one boy pointed at him and asked, “Elena, is that the man from the picture?” The spoon fell from her hand.

By midnight, the warehouse safehouse had become the strategic command center for the most dangerous military operation Chicago had seen in half a century.

Fifty elite Moretti soldiers, armed with automatic rifles and body armor, patrolled the perimeter of the industrial property. Inside, my top capos—men who had sworn blood oaths to my family—stood around a massive tactical map of Illinois and New York laid out across the conference table.

Among them was Dominick, my chief of intelligence, and Viktor, the brutal enforcer who oversaw our shipping docks.

“Boss,” Dominick said, sliding a thick surveillance folder across the steel table. “We ran the signatures from the tactical gear worn by those dead mercenaries at your estate. They aren't just Bellini hitmen. They belong to a private military contractor called Vanguard Tactical.”

I leaned over the table, staring at the high-resolution satellite photos of a fortified estate in the suburbs of Northbrook.

“Who pays Vanguard’s bills?” I asked.

“That’s the crazy part, Boss,” Dominick replied, sweating under the harsh fluorescent lights. “Vanguard’s primary retainer is paid through an off-shore shell company registered in the Cayman Islands. And three hours ago, right after the failed raid on your mansion, a wire transfer of five million dollars was executed from that exact shell company.”

“To whom?”

Dominick swallowed hard, looking nervously at Dante before answering.

“To a private medical sanctuary in Zurich, Switzerland,” Dominick said. “Registered under the personal account of Cassian Vance.”

The entire room went deathly silent.

Dante slammed his fist against the table. “That’s impossible! I attended Cassian’s funeral two years ago! I saw his damn casket go into the ground!”

“It was an empty casket, Dante,” I said softly, my voice laced with lethal realization. “Cassian faked his death, just like Sofia was forced to fake hers. He didn't die of heart failure. He took Bellini’s money, went to Europe, and has been operating as a ghost from a Swiss clinic while running Bellini’s intelligence network.”

Everything clicked into place.

Cassian hadn't just betrayed me; he had orchestrated a ghost network inside my own organization. He knew the layout of my mansion. He knew my schedule. He knew that I was supposed to be in downtown Chicago for a meeting until 5:00 PM today.

The canceled meeting downtown!

My eyes narrowed into slits of pure fire.

“The meeting downtown this afternoon,” I murmured. “It was canceled at the last minute by Mayor Sterling’s office.”

“Boss,” Viktor whispered, realization hitting him. “Mayor Sterling’s campaign was heavily funded by Cassian’s shell companies four years ago.”

“They set me up,” I said, the cold logic of the trap revealing itself. “Cassian leaked the location of my four sons to Bellini. They arranged for Mayor Sterling to pull me out of my house for a fake meeting downtown so Bellini’s hit squad could slaughter Elena and my children in my own dining room without me there to defend them.”

“And when you returned three hours early because the meeting fell through...” Dante breathed, “you caught them mid-operation.”

“They thought I would find four dead children and a dead housekeeper,” I said, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the table edge. “They thought it would break my spirit. They thought I would surrender Chicago to Bellini out of grief.”

I stood up straight, towering over my men.

“Where is Mayor Sterling right now?” I asked.

“He’s hosting a private political fundraiser at the Drake Hotel downtown,” Dominick answered instantly. “There are over two hundred high-society guests and security guards there.”

I looked toward the back room where Mateo, Leo, Lucas, and Nico were fast asleep under Elena’s watchful eye.

My sons were safe for the moment. But as long as Cassian, Bellini, and their political puppets drew breath, my children would live in a world of endless assassination attempts.

Sofia had asked me not to seek revenge. She had asked me to be a father.

But Sofia didn't understand that in order to be a father to four Moretti princes, I first had to destroy every king who threatened their throne.

“Dante,” I said.