“A Man Is Pushing Mama Into a Black Car Outside,” the Maid’s Toddler Shouted to the Mafia Boss

Outside, the heavy thunder of approaching engines shattered the quiet. Marcus Dell and four black SUVs filled with Victor’s heavily armed strike team roared into the warehouse complex, their headlights flooding the interior with blinding white light.

Tactical guards poured out of the vehicles, weapons raised, instantly securing the perimeter and handcuffing the weeping, bleeding Gregory Vance.

Marcus walked briskly toward Victor, his eyes sweeping over the dead Delacroix enforcers and the secured area.

"Perimeter clear, Victor," Marcus reported, throwing a warm wool blanket over Hannah’s shoulders. "Julian Delacroix’s main compound in South Baltimore is currently being raided by our secondary unit. The Delacroix family won't survive the night."

Victor nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Gregory, who was groveling on the blood-soaked concrete floor, held down by two tactical guards.

"Why, Gregory?" Victor asked, his voice low and empty. "Fourteen years. I gave you a home. I gave you power. I gave you a family."

Gregory lifted his bloody face, his eyes filled with pure, pathetic venom. "You gave me your scraps!" he choked out. "You sat in that mansion mourning your dead wife for twelve years while I built your legal front! And then she comes along—a simple maid! And suddenly you start changing! You started talking about leaving the business! You started talking about selling off the port terminals! I built this empire with you, Victor! I wasn't going to let you destroy it for a penniless widow!"

Victor looked down at the man he had once considered a brother. There was no anger left in Victor’s eyes—only a vast, cold ocean of disgust.

"I didn't destroy the empire, Gregory," Victor said softly. "You did. Take him away."

"Victor! Victor, please!" Gregory screamed as Marcus’s men dragged him out into the pouring rain toward the waiting security vans. "We built this together! You can't do this to me! Victor!"

The screams faded into the roar of the storm as the van doors slammed shut.

Victor turned back to Hannah. She was standing near the iron chair, her body trembling from the sudden release of adrenaline and the cold wind howling through the broken warehouse windows.

He walked over to her, his heavy boots echoing softly. Gently, he reached into her torn coat pocket and pulled out the heavy gold Castellano coin.

He held it in his palm, staring at it for a long moment before looking up into her bright, tear-filled blue eyes.

"Poppy told me you took this," Victor murmured.

"I saw him setting up the camera files in your study earlier tonight," Hannah whispered, wiping a tear from her blood-stained cheek. "I knew he was going to betray you. When his men grabbed me at the gate, I knew I couldn't beat them... but I knew if I took this, you’d find me."

Victor reached out, his hand trembling slightly as his thumb gently brushed away a streak of dried blood near her soft lip.

"I almost doubted you," Victor confessed, his voice breaking under the weight of his own guilt. "When he showed me that video four hours ago... for ten seconds, I let my old darkness make me suspect you."

Hannah reached up, wrapping her soft fingers around his large, calloused hand, pressing his palm firmly against her cold cheek.

"You didn't doubt me, Victor," she said softly. "If you had doubted me, you wouldn't have come through that window alone."