“They're Beating My Mom!” A Little Girl Ran to the Mafia Boss Crying That They Were Beating Her Mother, but a Crumpled Flower Invoice Exposed the Traitor Inside His Empire

By 2:00 a.m., Sophia and Emma Bennett were tucked safely into the guest wing of my private estate on the north side of the city.

Dr. Laurent had cleaned Sophia’s wounds, treating her concussion and bruised ribs, while a nurse looked after Emma’s small cuts and gave her a warm meal.

I sat in the study downstairs, staring into the flickering embers of the fireplace.

A light knock sounded on the wooden door.

Enzo stepped inside, holding a glass of scotch, which he set on the mahogany desk in front of me.

“Dante transferred six million dollars from his private Swiss account,” Enzo reported quietly. “It’s already been deposited into a clean, legal trust fund for Sophia and her daughter.”

“And the flower shop?” I asked, taking a small sip of the scotch.

“Luca’s crew is rebuilding it overnight,” Enzo smiled faintly. “New glass, new counters, reinforced security doors, and a fresh shipment of white lilies coming from Holland on Monday.”

I nodded slowly, looking into the fire. “How is the mother?”

“She’s awake,” Enzo said gently. “She asked if she could speak with you.”

I stood up, adjusting my jacket, and walked down the long carpeted hallway toward the guest quarters.

When I opened the door, Sophia was sitting up in the large canopy bed, wrapped in a plush robe, holding a cup of hot chamomile tea. Emma was fast asleep beside her, her small hand resting against her mother’s waist.

Sophia looked up as I entered, her eyes soft with a mixture of awe and residual fear.

“Mr. Moretti,” she whispered, trying to adjust her posture.

“Please, don't move,” I said softly, staying near the doorway. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I deserve,” she murmured, looking down at her sleeping daughter. “Emma told me what you did at the restaurant. She said you knelt on the floor for her.”