"Mommy Told Me to Give You This Letter If She Ever Disappeared..." The Maid’s Little Boy Gave Me a Letter After His Mother Died—And the Truth Inside Made Me Realize I Had a Son

The moment of peace was shattered by a sharp knock on the tall mahogany doors of the east room.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I stood up instantly, lifting Lucas onto my left hip. He wrapped his legs naturally around my waist and held tight to his wooden horse.

My right hand drifted out of habit toward the shoulder holster hidden beneath my unbuttoned jacket.

“Enter,” I commanded, my voice returning to its iron register.

The heavy door creaked open.

Matteo, my chief of security and my most loyal lieutenant for fifteen years, stepped into the room. His face was unusually pale, his dark eyes tight with tension.

“Don Alessandro,” Matteo said, bowing his head slightly before glancing at Lucas held tightly in my arms. He looked surprised, but his professional discipline kept him from asking questions. “We have a situation at the gate.”

“Speak,” I said, walking toward my heavy desk and setting the letter inside a locked steel drawer.

“Three black SUVs just pulled up to the outer security perimeter,” Matteo reported low and fast. “They aren't local syndicate. They’re carrying credentials from the Castiglione remnants out of Chicago.”

My eyes narrowed into slits of ice. “The Castigliones were wiped out four years ago.”

“We thought so too, Boss,” Matteo replied grimly. “But a man named Marco Castiglione—the nephew of old Don Vincente—has taken over their underground operations in the Midwest. He claims he has official business regarding an unregistered child living on your property.”

My heart stopped, then began pounding with a dark, terrible fury.

Rosa had mentioned in her letter that she was terrified. Someone had been looking for the baby. Someone had tracked her from Genoa to America, waiting for her heart to fail so they could strike when her protection vanished.

Marco Castiglione didn't know Lucas was my son. He thought the boy was just a loose end—an heir to the old European estate or a witness to the Genoa massacre.

“How many men did he bring?” I asked softly.

“Twelve,” Matteo said. “All heavily armed. They’re demanding to speak with you directly.”

I looked down at Lucas, who was watching me with calm, dark gray eyes. He wasn't scared. He trusted me completely.

“Take Lucas to the safe room beneath the west library,” I instructed Matteo, handing the child over to my lieutenant’s arms. “Activate the steel shutters. Put six men on the corridor.”

“And you, Don Alessandro?” Matteo asked, catching the lethal spark in my eyes.