I came home early and nearly fired the young maid I found sitting on my kitchen floor, making my three daughters laugh for the first time since their mother was murdered. But before I could throw her out, my eldest daughter grabbed my coat, looked me straight in the eyes, and spoke her first words in fourteen months: “Daddy killed Mommy.”

Two days later, the fragile peace of the estate was shattered by an unexpected visitor who carried the stench of blood and old violence.

I was in my private study reviewing shipping manifests when heavy boots echoed in the marble foyer, followed by the sound of a scuffle.

"Let me go, you oversized thug!" a raspy voice shouted. "I came to see Dominic, not get manhandled by his yard dogs!"

I stood up, walking out to the landing just as Marcus shoved Victor Vance—an old-time mob enforcer from the Brooklyn docks who had survived the purge of the Mendoza cartel—toward the center of the foyer.

"Hold on, Marcus," I ordered, descending the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. I buttoned my jacket, my face hardening into a mask of absolute ice. "Victor. It’s been a long time. I thought you retired to Florida after the docks were cleared."

Victor wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead, his shifty eyes darting around the opulent room before locking onto mine. "Retire? In my line of work, Russo, you don't retire. You just stay alive long enough until someone finds you."

"Why are you here, Victor?" I asked, closing the distance between us until I towered over him. "My patience for old ghosts is very short these days."

"It’s about Isabella," Victor blurted out, lowering his voice as if afraid the walls were listening.

The name hit me like a physical blow. My fist clenched so hard my knuckles popped. "Careful what you say next, Victor."

"I'm serious, Dominic! You think the Mendoza cartel operated alone on that hit in Queens fourteen months ago?" Victor shook his head frantically. "They were animals, sure, but they were stupid animals. They didn't have the clearance, they didn't have the police scanner codes, and they sure as hell didn't know Isabella's exact preschool pickup schedule down to the minute."

My blood ran cold. The ambient temperature in the foyer seemed to drop ten degrees. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying someone inside your own inner circle sold her out," Victor hissed, leaning in close. "Someone you trusted. And whatever you did to the Mendozas... it didn't finish the job. The real buyer is still right here in New York, and they're watching you right now."

Before I could demand names, a soft gasp echoed from the top of the stairs.

I whipped my head around. Chloe was standing on the landing, holding a basket of freshly laundered linens. Her face was stark white, and her blue eyes were wide with sudden, unadulterated terror as she stared not at me, but at Victor Vance.