The Maid’s Daughter Called the Mafia Boss After Her Mother Was Fired, but One Wolf Ring and a Hospital Receipt Exposed the Traitor Hidden Inside His Estate

The Sea View Motel was a rotting two-story concrete rectangle sitting on the edge of a gravel parking lot where rusted fishing nets lay piled in the mud.

The neon sign hummed and flickered in a pale green haze through the torrential rain.

My convoy pulled into the gravel lot at 4:02 a.m., headlights cutting through the storm. Four of my guards instantly fanned out across the perimeter, submachine guns concealed beneath their heavy wool coats.

I stepped out into the pouring rain, ignoring the water soaking my dark suit jacket, and walked up the exterior concrete stairs to Room 114.

I didn't knock.

I motioned to Matteo, who inserted a master key card into the brass lock.

The door clicked open.

The room smelled of damp plaster, cheap bleach, and the metallic tang of fresh blood.

Clara Ricci lay curled on her side on the thin mattress, her face pale as bone, her lips blue. Her right forearm was bruised black and blue, where Marco’s guards had grabbed her, and a makeshift bandage wrapped around her hand was soaked through with crimson.

Sitting on the floor beside the bed was tiny Emma.

She was wearing pink pajamas, clutching a faded plush bunny in one arm and holding the silver wolf ring tightly against her small chest with her other hand.

When the door opened, Emma flinched, shrinking back against the nightstand.

Then she saw me.

Her big brown eyes widened through her tears.

"Uncle Alessandro..." she whimpered, her tiny voice breaking. "You came."

I dropped to my knees on the dirty carpet, completely unconcerned with my trousers soaking in the grime near the door.

"I promised you, didn't I?" I said softly, reaching out and gently brushing a stray black curl away from her forehead. "When the castle falls, I come."

I picked up Emma in my left arm, holding her close against my shoulder. She buried her face in my neck, her small body trembling violently as she sobbed into my collar.

I knelt beside Clara's bed, reaching out to press my fingers against her neck.

Her pulse was thready, weak, and dangerously rapid.

"Signor... Moretti..." Clara whispered, her eyes fluttering open, clouded with pain and exhaustion. "I... I didn't take it... I swear on my husband's grave..."

"Hush, Clara," I commanded gently, wrapping a thick wool blanket from my guard around her shoulders. "You don't need to explain anything to me."

I turned to Matteo, who stood in the doorway with two guards.

"Call my private medical team," I ordered, my voice dropping into a register that made even Matteo take a half-step back. "Have Dr. Laurent waiting at the estate medical wing. We are bringing them home."

"And Marco, Boss?" Matteo asked quietly.