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.

Julian Mercer didn't try to deny it.

The moment Enzo mentioned the wrist tattoo, Julian’s calm demeanor shattered. With lightning speed, he kicked his heavy dining chair backward, pulled a compact 9mm pistol from his ankle holster, and lunged toward Toby, intending to take the teenager hostage.

"Toby, down!" Sarah screamed.

Before Julian could raise his weapon, Enzo stood up, grabbed his heavy iron-framed dining chair, and smashed it across Julian’s shoulders with terrifying force.

The wooden chair shattered into splinters. Julian crashed onto the dining table, knocking over crystal glasses, wine bottles, and china plates.

Franky Moretti and Dominic Rossi drew their weapons instantly, pinning Julian’s arms to the table before he could recover.

"You traitorous bastard!" Franky roared, shoving the barrel of his gun into Julian’s ear. "You sold out the Boss’s kid?!"

Julian spat blood onto the white tablecloth, coughing violently as he looked up at Enzo with a bitter, defeated laugh. "Marcone offered me twenty million dollars and control of the docks, Enzo! You were getting weak! You spent more time worrying about your sick kid than running the family!"

Enzo stood over him, his face devoid of all emotion. He grabbed Julian by the collar, dragging him off the table and throwing him to the carpeted floor.

"Take him to the cellar," Enzo commanded Franky and Dominic. "Make sure he stays alive until he gives us every location where Marcone is hiding."

"With pleasure, Boss," Franky growled, dragging the screaming traitor out of the dining room through the service entrance.

Toby was shaking, his face pale as he clutched the edge of his seat. Leo sat quietly, his eyes wide, though he didn't cry—he had grown up around the violent reality of his father’s world.

Sarah stood up, her body trembling from adrenaline and physical pain. Her stitches pulled tight, sending a sharp wave of agony across her stomach.

"Toby, take Leo upstairs to his room," Sarah commanded, her voice steady despite her pain. "Now."

Toby didn't argue. He quickly picked up Leo and rushed out of the dining room toward the main staircase.

Once the room was clear, only Enzo and Sarah remained among the shattered glass and spilled red wine.

Enzo turned to her. His hands were covered in minor cuts from the broken wood, and his breathing was heavy.

"Are you hurt?" Enzo asked, stepping toward her.

"I'm fine," Sarah breathed, leaning against the back of her chair for support. "You... you knew it was him?"

"I suspected Julian for weeks," Enzo admitted, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his bloody knuckles. "He was the only one who had access to the security routing schedules for the Halston Hotel. But I needed proof before I moved against a family captain. You gave me that proof tonight, Sarah."

Sarah looked at the blood dripping onto the carpet. She felt a sudden, profound wave of dizziness wash over her. The stress, the physical trauma of her injuries, and the violent spectacle had finally pushed her body past its limits.

Her knees buckled.

"Sarah!"

Enzo moved with impossible speed, catching her before she struck the floor. He lifted her into his arms once again, holding her close against his chest.

Sarah looked up into his dark eyes. For the first time, she saw raw panic in them—not the calculated coldness of a crime boss, but the desperate terror of a man who cared about her life.