The coffee pot slipped from Leah Vale’s fingers at 11:47 p.m. and exploded across the tile floor like the last fragile part of her pretending.

The black SUV purred through the rain-soaked streets of the city like a predatory beast.

Leah sat in the back seat, wrapped in a plush, heavy cashmere coat Viktor had insisted she wear over her faded server's uniform. Viktor sat beside her, looking out the tinted window, his silhouette dark and imposing against the neon lights of the city.

Ten minutes ago, Viktor had left Marcus a stack of cash that would pay Callahan’s rent for two years, along with a quiet threat from Lev to keep his mouth shut about everything he had seen.

“Where are you taking me?” Leah asked, her fingers digging into the soft leather of the seats.

“To my home,” Viktor replied without turning. “The Torrio estate in the hills. It is the only place in this state behind three miles of razor wire, thermal cameras, and fifty armed men. You will be safe there.”

“I had a life, Viktor,” Leah said, using his name deliberately to see if he would react. He didn't; he only flinched slightly at the lack of title. “I had an apartment.”

“You had a hovel with a locked door that a child could kick open,” Viktor corrected sharply, turning to face her. “You were eating canned soup and worrying about electricity while my lieutenants spend ten thousand dollars a night on dinner. That ends tonight.”

“I don't want your money!” Leah snapped. “I wanted a mother! I wanted to know why I spent eighteen years thinking no one wanted me!”

Viktor’s expression softened, the hard mafia don giving way to an old, broken man. He reached out slowly, resting his heavy hand on the seat between them, close to her hand, but not touching her.

“I looked for her, Leah,” Viktor said, his voice cracking slightly. “For five years after the war ended, I searched every grave, every hospital record. But Hector was thorough. He forged death certificates. He bought off coroners. I thought I was honoring her memory by taking over the family and destroying the Morettis. I didn't know…” He swallowed hard. “I didn't know my heart was still breathing in an orphanage twenty miles away.”

The SUV pulled up to a massive iron gate topped with wrought-iron spikes. Armed guards in tactical gear checked the vehicle with mirrors before waving them through. The gates swung open silently, revealing a sprawling stone mansion set atop a dark hill overlooking the glowing expanse of the city.

As the car stopped under the grand portico, a butler opened Leah’s door. She stepped out into the crisp night air, looking up at the towering manor. It was magnificent, breathtaking, and terrifying.

It felt less like a home and more like a high-end prison.

Viktor stepped out beside her. “Welcome home, Leah.”

Before she could answer, a shadow moved near the top of the grand marble staircase leading to the front doors.

A tall, thin man in his late sixties stepped into the light. He carried an silver-topped cane, his grey hair impeccably styled, wearing a tailored navy suit. His eyes were small, dark, and calculating—like a snake evaluating a bird.

It was Hector Torrio.

“Viktor,” Hector said, his voice smooth as silk, echoing off the stone pillars. “You left the meeting early tonight. And you brought… company? Who is this girl?”

Leah felt Viktor’s body tense beside her. The air suddenly smelled of violence.