My Fiancée Hid My Eight-Year-Old Daughter Beneath the Floor Before the Inheritance Dinner—Then She Said My Dead Brother Would Take the Empire.

By 11:40 PM, Victor arrived at the St. Regis Hotel in Manhattan.

The torrential rain lashed against the grand glass entrance as Victor stepped out of his vehicle, flanked by Arthur Vance and six heavily armed bodyguards in dark suits. He wore his midnight-black tuxedo, his broad frame radiating an aura of lethal authority that made the hotel doormen back away in terror.

They entered the grand elevator, riding it up to the penthouse floor where the Council of Nine convened.

Inside the penthouse ballroom, nine powerful crime bosses sat around a massive circular marble table, reviewing legal deeds presented by Celeste's senior corporate team. Sitting at the head of the table, dressed in her luxurious crimson gown, was Celeste herself.

She looked up as the heavy oak doors of the ballroom were slammed open.

Victor walked into the room. He moved with slow, deliberate steps, his polished leather shoes echoing off the marble floor.

"Victor," the senior Council chairman announced, a sharp-faced boss named Don Falcone. "You are out of order. This is a private executive session regarding the Bellacosta trust."

"The session is adjourned, Falcone," Victor said, stopping ten feet from the marble table. "Because the documents in front of you are forged."

Celeste stood up slowly, her diamond necklace sparkling under the chandeliers, a cold smirk touching her lips. "Always dramatic, Victor. But the clock doesn't lie. It is 11:45 PM. In fifteen minutes, the ten-year clause expires, and as Julian's legal widow, the voting shares pass to me."

"You aren't his widow, Celeste," Victor said quietly. "You're his murderer."

Gasps rippled through the Council members.

Celeste’s smirk wavered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered her composure. "Nonsense. Julian died in an accidental harbor fire."

"Julian didn't die in an accident," Victor said, pulling the silver pocket watch from his pocket and tossing it onto the marble table. It slid across the polished surface, coming to a stop directly in front of Don Falcone. "He was poisoned with a cyanide derivative three hours before the fire started. The same poison your operative just tried to give my daughter at the vineyard twenty minutes ago."

Don Falcone's hand twitched against his armrest.

Victor turned his piercing gaze directly onto Falcone. "You thought you could use Celeste to stage a quiet coup inside my family, Falcone? You thought if you killed my daughter, Celeste would inherit the entire Bellacosta estate and hand fifty percent of the shipping docks over to your syndicate?"

Falcone stood up, his face flushing red. "These are wild accusations, Bellacosta! You have no proof!"

At that moment, Victor’s satellite phone chimed. He pressed speakerphone and set it on the marble table.

Marcus’s voice echoed through the high-ceilinged room: "Boss! The maid at the vineyard confessed before she died. She was hired directly by Don Falcone's private secretary. We recovered the encrypted wire transfer records from her phone."