Chapter 1 - The Little Girl Climbed Onto the Mafia Boss’s Chest and Revealed the Secret That Could Get Him KilledMy name is Alessandro Moretti.
For twenty years, men had feared my name.
For fifteen years, Marco Bianchi had stood beside me.
He had taken bullets for me.
He had slept outside my bedroom when enemies threatened my family.
He had carried my father's coffin beside me.
I trusted him more than I trusted myself.
That afternoon, beneath the ancient oak tree my father had loved, I was about to discover that trust could be more dangerous than any gun.
Sofia was still sitting on my chest.
Her tiny fingers were wrapped around my father's silver watch.
I stared at Marco.
He stared back.
For the first time in fifteen years, I couldn't read the man.
“What did you just say?” I asked the little girl.
Sofia looked toward the mansion.
“When the clock sings twelve times, Uncle Alessandro goes to sleep forever.”
The wind seemed to disappear.
Marco's face hardened.
“She doesn't know what she's saying.”
I didn't look at him.
I kept my eyes on Sofia.
“Who told you that?”
She pointed toward the mansion.
“Uncle Marco.”
Marco stepped forward.
“Boss—”
I raised one hand.
He stopped.
Sofia continued.
“He told Mama to leave the kitchen door open.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Tonight?”
She nodded.
“And then?”
“He said the bad men will come through the kitchen.”
Marco's jaw tightened.
I looked toward the house.
Every entrance was guarded.
Every camera was monitored.
No outsider should have known the kitchen door existed as a blind spot.
Unless someone inside had created it.
“Where was your mother?”
“In the laundry room.”
“Who else was there?”
Sofia thought.
“Mr. Marco.”
“Anyone else?”
“Mr. Luca.”
My blood chilled.
Luca was one of my oldest guards.
Marco glanced at me.
“Boss, you're listening to a three-year-old.”
“I know.”
“She could have misunderstood.”
“Maybe.”
I finally looked at him.
“But you seem very interested in convincing me she did.”
His face went still.
That was the first crack.
A tiny one.
But I saw it.
I stood.
Sofia immediately wrapped her arms around my neck.
I could feel her trembling.
“Take the child inside,” Marco ordered.
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
I carried Sofia toward the mansion.
The maid followed.
Marco walked beside me.
“Alessandro, listen to me.”
I stopped.
“No.”
He blinked.
“You're not listening.”
“I've listened to you for fifteen years.”
I looked into his eyes.
“Today I'm listening to her.”
Then I walked inside.
The moment we entered the corridor, I noticed something.
The kitchen camera was facing slightly downward.
Someone had moved it.
I said nothing.
I kept walking.
We reached the kitchen.
The back door was unlocked.
A cold draft entered through the gap.
Sofia buried her face against my shoulder.
“That door,” she whispered.
I looked at the maid.
“Who has access?”
“Only the kitchen staff, security, Mr. Bianchi, and you.”
Marco answered immediately.
“And the cleaners.”
I looked at him.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“I didn't ask you.”
Silence.
I turned to my head of security.
“Lock down the estate.”
Every guard in the corridor straightened.
“No one enters.”
“No one leaves.”
Marco stepped toward me.
“Alessandro, you're overreacting.”
I looked at him.
“Am I?”
Then my phone rang.
One of my men spoke.
“Boss, we found something.”
“What?”
“There are tire tracks behind the east wall.”
“How many vehicles?”
“One.”
“License plate?”
“Covered.”
My eyes met Marco's.
He didn't move.
I ordered:
“Bring the vehicle records.”
“Yes, boss.”
I turned toward Sofia.
She was staring at my father’s watch.
“Why does it sing?”
She whispered:
“Because Mommy said your father used it to count.”
“Count what?”
She looked at me.
“People who betrayed him.”
My chest tightened.
My father had indeed used that watch for something.
A secret list.
A list I had never found.
I had always believed he destroyed it before his death.
Sofia couldn't possibly know that.
Unless someone had told her.
I crouched.
“Where did your mother hear about my father?”
Sofia looked frightened.
“Don't be mad.”
“I won't.”
“She said your daddy knew Mama.”
My blood ran cold.
“My father knew your mother?”
She nodded.
“He gave her something.”
“What?”
“A blue envelope.”
Marco suddenly spoke.
“Enough.”
The word came out too quickly.
I looked at him.
He realized his mistake.
Sofia flinched.
I stood.
“Marco.”
“Yes?”
“Leave.”
His expression darkened.
“But—”
“Now.”
For the first time in fifteen years, Marco walked away from me without saying another word.
I watched him disappear down the corridor.
Then I looked at Sofia.
She whispered:
“Uncle Marco isn't the worst one.”
My blood turned to ice.
“What?”
She pointed toward the staircase.
“He said the man upstairs is.”
I slowly turned.
The mansion had three floors.
My private office was on the third.
My father’s old study was on the second.
And no one was supposed to be upstairs.
Yet from somewhere above us came the sound of footsteps.
Slow.
Careful.
Then the unmistakable click of a gun being loaded.
I pulled Sofia behind me.
My men raised their weapons.
The footsteps stopped.
A shadow appeared beneath the staircase.
Then a voice whispered:
May you like
“Too late, Alessandro.”
The lights went out.
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