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

The penthouse suite on the 40th floor of the Financial District tower was decorated in floor-to-ceiling marble, glass, and gold trim.

Don Carmine Russo—a heavy, balding man in his late sixties—sat in a high-backed leather chair near a crackling gas fireplace. Across from him sat an anxious man in a tailored suit holding a thick leather binder containing the original Master Deeds of the Moretti family estate.

Isabella walked into the room, tossing her fur stole onto a side couch. She reached into her bag, pulled out the bronze seal, and set it on the glass coffee table with a heavy, metallic thud.

“The key to the Moretti kingdom,” Isabella announced proudly.

Don Carmine leaned forward, his yellowed eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He picked up the seal, holding it close to his face.

“Forty years,” Carmine growled, his voice thick with malicious joy. “Old Lorenzo Moretti thought he was better than us. His son Dante thought he could rule the five families with his quiet dignity. And now, his own fiancée hands me his throat on a silver platter.”

The bank vice president pulled out a tin of heavy red sealing wax and a small butane blowtorch.

“If we apply the seal to these three transfer affidavits before midnight,” the banker stammered nervously, “the probate court will legally recognize the change of ownership at nine AM tomorrow.”

“Heat the wax,” Carmine ordered coldly.

The banker lit the torch, melting a thick pool of deep crimson wax onto the bottom signature line of the primary maritime deed.

Carmine grabbed the bronze seal, holding it above the hot wax.

Suddenly, the lights throughout the entire penthouse flickered once, twice, and extinguished completely.

The room was plunged into total darkness, save for the blue ambient glow of the city skyline shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows.