Make my daughter speak again, and I’ll give you everything,” the billionaire Mafia Boss begged. But when my four-year-old pointed at the swan music box and whispered, “He doesn’t want her to open it,” the man Vincent trusted most suddenly went pale.

Late that night, while the estate slept, Vincent sat in his dark private study on the ground floor. A single desk lamp illuminated a thick leather ledger that had been recovered from Dominic's private safe in the city.

Vincent flipped through the pages, his sharp eyes analyzing financial transactions, offshore wire transfers, and encrypted communications stretching back five years.

As he reached the final page, his brow furrowed.

Dominic hadn't been acting alone. The wire transfers draining the Moretti trust weren't ending in Dominic's personal bank accounts. Every single dollar had been routed to a private holding firm in Switzerland—a firm registered under an ancient crest that Vincent recognized all too well.

It was the crest of the Bellandi syndicate—Vincent's primary rival in the northern territories, led by a man who had claimed to be a neutral ally for over a decade.

Vincent leaned back in his leather chair, resting his chin on his knuckles. The betrayal ran far deeper than a greedy attorney. Dominic was merely the hand that moved the piece; the true enemy was still sitting in plain sight across the river.

A soft knock at the study door interrupted his thoughts.

Isabella stood in the doorway, wearing her white nightgown, holding her white swan music box in one hand and Ellie's gray stuffed rabbit in the other.