The Maid’s Toddler Sold Flowers for Her Sick Mom — Mafia Boss Froze When He Heard Her Name

Midnight.

A heavy snowstorm blanketed the grand estate of Chestnut Hill. The massive stone mansion stood like a dark fortress against the white landscape.

Damian, Marco, and I crept through the dense woods edging the perimeter. I wore a heavy black coat and boots, holding a detailed floor plan in my hands, though I didn't need it. The memory of my years as a maid was burned into my mind.

"The security cameras on the east wing have a five-second blind spot near the old conservatory," I whispered, pointing through the snowfall. "There’s a small cellar door used for coal deliveries in the 1920s. It leads straight into the wine cellar below Victor's study."

"Marco, cover the perimeter," Damian instructed. "Clara, stay behind me."

We slipped through the shadows, avoiding the roaming guards Julian had stationed outside. The cellar door was rusted, but Damian forced it open with a silent crowbar sweep.

We crept up the narrow, dusty servants' stairs. The mansion was eerie, filled with memories of my past—the long corridors I used to polish, the grand chandeliers hanging under dust sheets.

We reached Victor’s private study.

Damian moved to the oak bookshelf, feeling along the carved wooden trim until a hidden panel clicked open, revealing a reinforced steel safe.

"The combination..." Damian muttered, examining the electronic lock. "It requires a double-authentication code. My father's birthdate... and the date Victor opened the trust fund."

"October 14th, 2019," I blurted out. "That was the day I was fired. The day the three million was moved."

Damian punched in the numbers.

Click.

The heavy safe door swung open. Inside lay thick stacks of bonds, recorded audio tapes, and a bound leather ledger stamped with the Russo family seal.

Suddenly, the lights in the study flashed on.