THE MAFIA DON'S SECRET HEIR: He Left Me in the Rain, but 18 Months Later, Our Son Called Him "Dada"—And Revealed the Deadliest Traitor in His Empire

"MOVE!" I roared.

Elena lunged for the pistol on the table, but I fired a single round through her right shoulder. The impact spun her around, pinning her against the bulkhead. I didn't waste another second on her. I grabbed the collar of her crimson coat, dragging her kicking and screaming out onto the open deck.

"EVERYONE OFF THE SHIP! EVACUATE THE DOCKS NOW!" I screamed into the master radio channel.

Ten seconds.

Silas and our men vaulted over the yacht’s railing, hitting the wooden pier at a dead sprint toward the concrete seawall. I threw Elena over my shoulder like a sack of grain, leaping off the stern just as the yacht’s engine room erupted in a blinding flash of orange fire.

The shockwave hit us from behind like a speeding freight train.

BOOM!

The wooden planks of Pier 42 disintegrated beneath our feet as hundreds of pounds of military-grade C4 detonated in a synchronized chain reaction. Shipping containers weighing thirty tons were tossed into the air like toy blocks. A wall of fire, water, and shattered metal rolled over the harbor.

I threw myself over the concrete retaining wall of the seawall, shielding my head as shrapnel rained down like burning hail.

For ten seconds, the world was nothing but deafening thunder, searing heat, and flying debris.

Then, the roar subsided into the crackle of burning diesel and the hiss of boiling river water.

I pushed myself up from the mud, coughing through the thick black smoke. The yacht was gone, reduced to a burning hull sinking into the East River. The shipping containers were a mangled graveyard of twisted steel.

Silas emerged from the smoke, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but alive. Our six operators rallied behind him, battered but functional. Victor’s armored Suburbans were already rolling onto the ruined perimeter, their heavy headlights cutting through the haze.

Elena lay in the mud at my feet, clutching her shattered shoulder, sobbing in agony.

"Get her up," I commanded Victor's men, my voice hollow and relentless. "Take her to the basement cells in Holay Tower. Christian will extract every account number, every co-conspirator, and every contact in Boston before the sun comes up."

"And then, Boss?" Victor asked, his eyes dark.

"And then you ensure she never sees daylight again."

I turned my back on the burning ruins of Pier 42, climbed into the back of Victor’s lead Suburban, and pulled out my satellite phone.

I dialed the private line to the penthouse command center.

It rang once.

"Mercer?" Tavlin’s voice came through the speaker, breathless, trembling with unspeakable fear.

"It's over," I said, leaning my head back against the leather seat, closing my eyes as the adrenaline slowly drained from my exhausted body. "Elena is captured. The threat is neutralized. I’m coming home."

On the other end of the line, I heard Tavlin let out a sob of pure relief. And then, faintly through the receiver, came the sweet, melodic sound of a toddler babbling in the background.

"Dada home?" Lennox asked.