new 02 : The Mafia boss came home six hours early and heard his three silent daughters singing for the first time in 14 months—then one whispered the name of the person who murdered their mother. The Mafia Boss Came Home Six Hours Early and Heard His Silent Daughters Singing, but the Name They Whispered Next Changed Everything He Thought He Knew

I walked back up to the nursery suite.

Grace was sitting on the edge of Olivia’s bed. All three girls were awake now, sitting cross-legged, clutching each other’s hands. When I entered, Nora stretched her arms out toward me.

"Daddy," she whimpered.

The word shattered the last remaining wall around my heart. I crossed the room in two strides, knelt beside the bed, and gathered all three of my daughters into my arms. I buried my face in their hair, weeping silently as they wrapped their small arms around my neck.

"I’ve got you," I whispered over and over. "Daddy’s got you. No one is ever going to hurt you again. I swear it."

"He killed Mommy," Olivia whispered into my ear, her voice shaking with righteous fury. "Because Mommy found his papers. She told him she was going to tell you."

The final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Isabelle had been managing the family foundation’s charity books. She must have discovered Marcus laundering money or selling our supply routes to the rival syndicate in New Jersey. When she threatened to expose him, he eliminated her before she could speak—and staged it as a random hit by rival factions to drive me into a blind, vengeful turf war that would distract me while he consolidated power.

I kissed Olivia’s forehead, then Sophie’s, then Nora’s.

"Grace," I said, standing up.

Grace met my eyes. "What do you need?"

"I need you to take them to the safe room at the boathouse now. Marcus is going to try to finish what he started tonight. He knows the girls are remembering."

Grace shook her head. "No."

I glared at her, my mafia instincts flaring. "This is not a debate, Grace. You are the housekeeper."

"I am the woman who kept your daughters alive for two months while you buried yourself in whiskey and blood," Grace shot back, stepping right into my personal space, her voice a fierce, impassioned whisper. "If I take them out to the boathouse through the grounds, we are sitting ducks in the dark if his men are already watching the perimeter. The safest place is the reinforced vault behind your wine cellar. I will take them down there. I will lock the steel door from the inside. But I want a weapon."

I stared at her. She wasn't backing down.

"Have you ever fired a gun?" I asked.

"My brothers were Southie union enforcers, Dominic," she said flatly. "Give me a Glock."

I reached into my boot, pulled out a compact Glock 19, racked the slide to chamber a round, and handed it to her grip-first.

She took it with practiced ease, checked the safety, and tucked it into her apron pocket.

"Keep them safe," I said softly, my hand coming up to touch her cheek. I couldn't help myself. In the middle of the darkest night of my life, this woman was the only lighthouse on the shore.