“Your Fiancée Is A Thief,” The Maid’s Toddler Told The Mafia Boss—He Went Silent!

By ten o'clock that evening, the estate grounds were quiet once more. The white tents had been struck, the guests had departed, and the high wrought-iron gates were locked for the night.

Dante walked down to the estate library—the three-story room with slate roof tiles where the original steel magnate had taken his life in 1928.

Mateo was waiting inside, standing near the grand stone fireplace where a fire crackled quietly.

“Santino has been dealt with, Boss,” Mateo reported softly. “His estate in Florida has been transferred back to the family trust. The other Capos have accepted the evidence without question.”

Dante stood by the hearth, watching the orange flames lick the iron grate.

“Is Elena settled?” Dante asked.

“Yes, Boss,” Mateo smiled faintly. “She and Sophia returned to the main house staff quarters this afternoon. Elena was terrified when she heard about Santino, but I assured her the estate is entirely secure now.”

Dante pulled a small brown velvet pouch from his pocket. He loosened the drawstrings and tipped its contents into his palm.

The genuine, solid-yellow bronze seal rested in his hand. The hawk clutching grapes, the wings half-spread, and the razor-thin scratch on the right wing carved by his great-grandfather in Palermo in 1906.

Four generations of blood, loyalty, and betrayal bound inside four ounces of metal.

“Put it back in the hidden drawer, Mateo,” Dante said, handing the seal to his consigliere. “And change the locking code.”

“Yes, Boss,” Mateo said, bowing his head respectfully before exiting the library.

Dante sat in the grand leather armchair beside the fire. For the first time in seven years, the heavy weight pressing against his chest felt lighter. His brother Marco had finally been avenged, the traitors within his house had been purged, and his empire stood stronger than ever before.