New Mafia Boss’s Twins Screamed in Pain—Until a Maid Tore Open Their Teddy Bear and Found the Truth

The transition from housemaid to chief of staff of the Starks criminal empire was not something covered in standard human resources manuals, but Veronica Cruz adapted with the terrifying efficiency of a natural-born tactician.

Within three weeks, she had completely overhauled the estate’s security protocol. Every piece of hardware, every ventilation shaft, every electrical outlet, and every single incoming package was subjected to a triple-tier inspection protocol that made the Pentagon look like a sieve.

She relocated her office from the cramped staff quarters to a sunlit suite directly adjacent to the master wing, giving her immediate access to the girls while keeping her close to the central command hub.

On a crisp Friday afternoon, Veronica sat behind a sleek mahogany desk, reviewing the financial audits of the shipping docks that Susan’s shell companies had previously attempted to siphon funds from.

A soft knock sounded at the open door.

Lily and Rose skipped into the office, each holding a heavily crayon-drawn piece of paper.

“Veronica! Look! We drew a picture of you fighting a robot monster!” Lily announced proudly, thrusting a sheet of construction paper covered in purple glitter and aggressive black marker strokes toward her.

Veronica took the drawing, her eyes softening as she examined a stick figure with a huge nursing cap wielding a giant pair of pink safety scissors against a mechanical bear with laser eyes.

“This is a masterpiece,” Veronica declared solemnly, holding it up for inspection. “I’m framing this right behind my desk so all the syndicate bosses know who’s really in charge.”

The girls giggled delightedly, climbing up onto the leather couch in the corner of the office to play with a brand-new, entirely un-electronic set of wooden dolls that Rory had personally hand-selected for them from a local artisan.

Rory appeared in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene with a quiet, deeply satisfied expression. He looked less like a haunted warlord of the New York docks and more like a man who had finally found his way home through a blinding blizzard.

“Don't give them too much sugar before dinner,” Rory warned lightly, stepping into the room. “Otherwise, we’ll be up until midnight listening to stories about dragon-slaying.”

“Sugar is a vital nutrient for creative development, Mr. Starks,” Veronica retorted smoothly without looking up from her ledger. “As a former medical professional, I assure you it’s completely standard practice.”

Rory chuckled—a deep, rich sound that had become far more frequent around the estate these days. He walked over to her desk, placing a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea right beside her keyboard, exactly the way she liked it, with a single drop of lemon.

“Everything clear on the docks?” Rory asked, glancing down at the financial reports.

“Clean as a whistle,” Veronica replied, taking a sip of the tea. “The last of Susan’s dormant shell accounts have been liquidated and redirected into the children’s trust fund. Not a single penny is leaking out anywhere.”

Rory nodded, his dark eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer than necessary. There was an unspoken understanding building between them—an alliance forged in the crucible of betrayal and survival that was slowly, naturally evolving into something much deeper.

“Good,” Rory said softly. “Because tonight, the girls want to go to the boardwalk in town for cotton candy and Ferris wheel rides. And I need someone who knows how to handle unruly crowds—and screaming children who eat too much sugar.”