A Little Girl Made Me Laugh for the First Time Since My Wife Died—Then She Pointed at the Locked Room and Said, “The Pretty Lady Told Me.”

Dante reacted instantly. He shoved Rosa behind him into the bathroom, kicking the door half-shut. "Stay down with Sophia. Lock this door."

Dante drew a custom black semi-automatic from his shoulder holster and sprinted down the hallway into the main atrium.

Guards were shouting. Red security strobes painted the marble columns in blood-colored light. Marco stood near the shattered glass of the rear terrace doors, his weapon drawn, directing two guards who were dragging a limp body off the terrace.

"What happened?" Dante barked, checking the corners.

Marco turned, breathing hard. "Intruder tried to scale the west garden wall. One of our snipers caught him in the leg. He swallowed a cyanide pill before we could secure him."

Dante walked out onto the terrace. The dead man wore black tactical gear, sterile clothing with no tags, and heavy boots.

Marco crouched beside the corpse, searching the vest. He pulled out a black electronic device with a glowing display. "Dante. Look at this."

Dante leaned down.

"It’s an RF transmitter," Marco said, shaking his head in disgust. "This guy was spoofing our internal network from the garden perimeter. That’s how Carmela's code registered on the vault log. It wasn't a ghost. It was an external cyber-attack to test our response times."

Dante frowned. "And the open door? The moved portrait?"

"Bribed staff," Marco said confidently. "Probably Mrs. Gable before she left, or someone working for the Moretti family. They want you off-balance, Dante. They know Carmela is your blind spot. If they make you think you’re losing your mind, the council removes you."

It was neat. It was logical. It fit the brutal politics of the Chicago syndicate perfectly.

Dante looked at the dead man’s hand. On the intruder’s ring finger was a heavy silver band engraved with an intricate serpent.

Dante didn't say a word. He stood up and walked back inside, leaving Marco to clean up the mess.

He returned to the staff quarters. Rosa was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, holding Sophia in her lap. Sophia was awake, rubbing her eyes with a chubby fist.

When Dante walked in, Sophia looked up and smiled sleepily.

Then she began to hum.

It was a slow, haunting melody—three ascending notes followed by a soft drop.

Dante froze in the doorway, the pistol heavy in his hand.

It was an Italian lullaby. Carmela had composed it on their piano during their honeymoon in Tuscany. She had never written down the sheet music. She had never played it for anyone except Dante in the middle of the night.

Dante knelt down in front of the toddler. His voice was a bare whisper. "Sophia. Where did you hear that song?"