The wine hit Salvo Romano’s shoe like a gunshot in a room full of secrets. He insulted me in Sicilian, certain no American waitress could understand a word.

Morning arrived with a harsh, pale gray light creeping through the tall arched windows of the guest suite.

At precisely 7:00 a.m., the lock clicked open, and Bernardo stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with fresh coffee and warm croissants.

"The Don is waiting for you in the library, Miss Vance," Bernardo said respectfully, bowing his silver head slightly.

I had spent the night awake, pacing the carpet, trying to construct a plan. Running was impossible—the perimeter was guarded by armed men and attack dogs. Fighting was foolish. My only weapon was information, and I had to play my cards with absolute precision.

I followed Bernardo down a series of grand carpeted hallways lined with oil paintings of stern-faced Italian men and dark sea landscapes, arriving at a massive two-story library lined with thousands of leather-bound books.

Salvo was sitting behind an antique mahogany desk, wearing a charcoal dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark ink tattoos of traditional Sicilian symbols winding up his skin. A map of New York City and a satellite photo of a coastal village in Sicily were spread out before him.

"Sit," Salvo said, gesturing to a green velvet armchair across from his desk.

I walked over and sat down, folding my hands neatly in my lap. "Good morning, Don Romano."

Salvo looked up from his papers, a faint, amused smirk touching his lips. "You're calmer this morning, Clara. No tears?"

"Tears don't pay rent, and they certainly don't get rid of mafia bosses," I said flatly. "Let's make a deal."

Salvo set down his gold fountain pen, leaning back in his chair, intrigued. "A deal? A waitress offering terms to the head of the Romano family?"

"I am not just a waitress, Salvo," I said, dropping the formal titles. "I am a top biology student with a concentration in genetic sequencing. I solve complex puzzles for fun. My mother raised me to observe everything."

"Go on," he said, his amber eyes locked onto mine.

"You need that ledger because it contains the legal proof that Marco Maranzano has been skimming from the union pension funds and bribing federal prosecutors," I said, drawing from the fragments of news and conversation I had picked up over the last twelve hours. "If you get that ledger, you destroy Maranzano without firing a single bullet. You win the war."

"Correct," Salvo admitted softly.

"And what do I get if I give it to you?"

"Your life," Salvo said instantly. "And complete protection from any retaliation."

"Not good enough," I countered, leaning forward over the desk. "I want five million dollars from the seized Maranzano funds. I want a new legal identity created by your best accountants. And I want you to find out what happened to my mother."

Salvo stared at me in complete silence for five long seconds. Then, a low, deep chuckle echoed from his chest—a rare, genuine sound that transformed his stern face into something breathlessly handsome.

"You have courage, little bird," Salvo murmured, his voice dropping into a velvet purr. "Most men kneel when they enter this room. You demand millions and a fresh start."

"Do we have a deal or not?" I pressed, my heart beating fast.

Salvo reached across the desk, extending his right hand toward me. His large hand was warm, calloused, and powerful.

"We have a deal, Clara," he said softly. "On one condition."

"What condition?"

"You don't leave my side until this is over," Salvo said, his thumb brushing lightly across the back of my hand as I shook it. "Because the moment you step out of my sight, Maranzano will kill you. And I have grown accustomed to having a woman around who knows how to answer back in proper Sicilian."

A electric charge ran down my spine at his touch, making my cheeks burn red.

"Now," Salvo said, pulling the satellite photo of Sicily toward us. "Where did your mother hide the key?"