"Who Gave You Permission to Come in Here?" The Mafia Boss Found a Little Girl Inside His Locked War Room—But Her Tiny Finger on His Computer Exposed the Traitor He Raised Like Family

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Automatic weapon fire erupted inside the dark warehouse as the Duca strike team poured through the smoke!

The Valenti mercenaries on the catwalks were taken down before they could raise their rifles, falling from the high railings onto the wooden crates below.

Alessandro moved through the thick smoke like a shadow, his rifle barking with lethal precision as he cleared the central floor.

THWIP! THWIP! BANG!

In less than ninety seconds, the warehouse was clear. The bodies of six mercenaries lay still amidst the sawdust and broken crates.

“Clear!” Viktor shouted from the eastern perimeter.

“Clear!” team two called out from the rear loading dock.

Alessandro lowered his weapon and walked toward the rear of the warehouse, where a heavy iron door led down into an underground storage cellar.

He kicked the door open, his tactical flashlight cutting a beam of bright white light through the damp, dark air.

At the far corner of the subterranean room, chained to a heavy concrete pillar, sat a man.

He was gaunt, his dark hair streaked with gray, wearing a worn mountain jacket stained with dirt and blood. His eyes were bruised, but when the flashlight beam hit his face, his posture remained straight, defiant, unyielding.

Marco Duca.

Marco squinted into the bright light, his throat raw as he rasped out a ragged warning. “If you’re... here to finish Robert’s job... get it over with, you bastards...”

Alessandro stepped down the wooden stairs, lowering his flashlight so it illuminated his own face.

“You always were a terrible judge of who was coming to kill you, Marco,” Alessandro said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Marco froze.

He stared at Alessandro through the dim light, his hollow eyes widening in total disbelief.

“Alessandro...?” Marco whispered, his voice cracking. “Is... is that really you?”

“It’s me, brother,” Alessandro said, stepping forward and pulling a heavy pair of bolt cutters from Viktor’s belt.

With a single hard squeeze, Alessandro snapped the heavy iron chains binding Marco’s wrists.

Marco collapsed forward, but Alessandro caught him in a powerful embrace, holding his older brother tightly as ten years of grief, anger, and hidden pain melted away in the cold mountain air.

“Mia...” Marco gasped, gripping Alessandro’s shoulders with shivering hands. “Did she... did she make it to you?”