For three years, a notorious mafia boss sent back every single meal untouched—until a quiet waitress served him a humble dish that unlocked a scent from a past he thought was long gone.

Enzo didn't even stand up. He slowly leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his knee as if the FBI agent were nothing more than a minor annoyance.

"You're trespassing, Agent Miller," Enzo said softly. "This is a private medical wing."

"It’s a crime scene investigation," Miller snapped, stepping up to the foot of Sarah’s bed. He looked down at Sarah with a cold, calculating gaze. "Miss Miller—or should I call you Mrs. Caruso?—I’m Agent Miller with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Organized Crime Division."

Sarah gripped the edge of her blanket, her pulse spiking on the heart monitor beside her. "I know who you are."

"Then you know you don't have to lie for this man," Miller said, leaning over the bed rail. "We ran your background, Sarah. Twenty-four years old. Raised in Brooklyn. Parents died in a car crash four years ago. You work forty-eight hours a week at the Halston Hotel to pay for your brother’s medical bills. You’ve never been to Italy, you’ve never attended a charity gala as a guest, and until forty-eight hours ago, you had never spoken a single word to Lorenzo Caruso."

Toby took a step forward, his fists clenched. "Leave my sister alone! She’s sick!"

"Stay out of this, kid," Miller warned without looking at Toby. He kept his eyes locked on Sarah. "Sarah, Lorenzo Caruso is using you. He’s facing a federal grand jury indictment for money laundering and extortion. If his son was targeted in an open ballroom, the court will strip him of parental rights. That’s why he created this fake marriage—to claim you were part of his household so he could shield himself behind a hero narrative."

Sarah looked at Enzo. The crime boss remained entirely motionless, his expression unreadable, waiting to see what she would do.

"Agent Miller," Sarah said, forcing her raspy voice to sound steady despite the pain tearing through her body. "You seem to think you know my life very well."

"I know the facts," Miller said.

"Then you should know that I love my family," Sarah replied, looking Miller straight in the eye. "Lorenzo and I kept our relationship quiet because of his line of work and the media attention. I was working at the hotel because I refuse to live off his money. I prefer to earn my own."

Miller scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You expect me to believe a word of that ridiculous story? A minimum-wage server secretly married to the head of the Caruso syndicate?"

"You don't have to believe it, Agent," Enzo interrupted, standing up smoothly. He towered over the federal agent, his presence instantly dominating the small hospital room. "Because unless you have an arrest warrant for my wife, you are currently violating her civil rights by harassing a critically injured victim in an intensive care unit."

Miller stepped close to Enzo, face-to-face. "I know what you're doing, Caruso. Marcone isn't going to stop. He knows she saw the shooter's face. If she stays with you, she’s a dead woman."

"She is safer with me than she ever would be in your witness protection program," Enzo said coldly. "Now get out of my wife’s room before my attorneys file a federal injunction against you for police harassment."

Miller stared at Enzo for a long, tense moment. Then he turned back to Sarah, pulling a small white business card from his pocket and dropping it onto her blanket.

"When you realize he can't protect you, Sarah, call me," Miller whispered. "Before it’s too late."

The federal agents turned and marched out of the room, closing the heavy door behind them.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"He's right about one thing," Sarah said quietly, looking at the white business card on her blanket. "Marcone knows I saw the shooter. He knows I saw the silver serpent."

"Marcone doesn't know what you saw yet," Enzo said, walking over and picking up the agent's card, ripping it in half without hesitation. "He thinks his hitman failed because of a sudden crowd panic. But he will try to verify if you can identify his man."

Enzo walked to the window, looking down at the rainy New York streets nine stories below.

"We leave for the Long Island estate tonight," Enzo commanded. "Marco has arranged a armored transport. Once we are inside the gates, no one gets in without my personal authorization."

"What about the shooter?" Sarah asked, her hand moving unconsciously to her bandaged abdomen. "The man who shot me... where is he?"