“You Are My Sunshine,” the Maid’s Little Girl Sang to the Comatose Mafia Boss—Then He Woke Up

Vincent Kane stepped into the room, flanked by two armed men.

His eyes swept over the scene—the illuminated computer terminal, me standing beside the wall, and Dario sitting upright in bed.

Vincent’s gaze landed on the computer screen. The progress bar read: TRANSFER COMPLETE TO FEDERAL PROSECUTOR’S OFFICE.

Vincent’s face went completely grey.

“What did you do?” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with psychotic rage.

“I finished what Sofia started seven years ago, brother,” Dario said coldly, staring Vincent down without a flinch. “Federal marshals received the entire ledger three seconds ago. The warrants for your arrest, your shell corporations, and your cartel partners are being signed right now.”

Vincent pulled a sleek black pistol from his jacket holster, pointing it directly at Dario’s chest.

“You think you’re so smart, Dario!” Vincent screamed, his composure shattering into terrifying mania. “I spent seven years building this family while you pined over a dead waitress! I put you in that coma, and I should have finished it in that garage!”

“Put the gun down, Vincent,” I said, stepping between the barrel and Dario’s bed.

Vincent’s wild eyes snapped to me. “Elena Reyes. The devoted sister. I should have hunted you down seven years ago.”

“Move, Elena,” Dario ordered, trying to swing his legs out of the hospital bed.

“No,” I said, standing firm, staring into the barrel of Vincent’s gun. “I spent seven years running from you, Vincent. I’m not running anymore. My daughter is on the second floor, and she is going to grow up knowing her father, in the light, without your shadow over her life.”

Vincent pulled back the hammer of the pistol. “Then you can join your sister.”