The first night I sang to a dying six-year-old girl inside a mafia boss’s mansion, her father watched us through hidden cameras

The news hit the room like a physical blow. Lorenzo’s expression darkened into something lethal. If the security codes were leaked, the entire estate was compromised, and staying inside the mansion suddenly became far more dangerous than running.

“Who had access to the master terminal today?” Lorenzo demanded, his voice dangerously low.

“Only three people,” Vincent replied, stepping further into the study and closing the door behind him. “Myself, head of security Marcus, and... the new logistics coordinator, Robert.”

I watched the wheels turn in Lorenzo’s mind. Marcus had been with the family for fifteen years; he had bled for Lorenzo during the Boston turf wars. But Robert? Robert had been hired two months ago, recommended by an outside associate.

“Bring Robert to the basement holding room,” Lorenzo ordered coldly. “And have Marcus meet me there.”

“Wait,” I interrupted, stepping forward. “If Robert leaked the codes, he wouldn't do it alone. He’d need a secure transmitter. Check his office before you confront him.”

Lorenzo looked at me with newfound respect, nodding sharply at Vincent. “Do it. Search his quarters immediately.”

Within ten minutes, Vincent returned holding a small, high-frequency satellite transmitter—the exact model used by rival syndicates to bypass local signal blockers. But it wasn't Robert’s office it came from.

“It was found in Marcus’s desk,” Vincent said, his voice heavy with betrayal.

Lorenzo closed his eyes for a brief second. The betrayal of a fifteen-year loyal soldier cut deeper than any gunshot wound. “Marcus,” he whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.

“He took a payoff from the Morettis,” Vincent added bitterly. “His daughter’s medical debt in Switzerland. They used his weakness against him.”

“A weakness is not an excuse for treason,” Lorenzo said, his voice hardening back into absolute steel. He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. “Emma, take Sophia and lock yourselves in the panic room beneath the master bedroom. Do not come out until I unlock it from the outside.”

“I’m not hiding while you clean house,” I argued stubbornly.

“This isn't a debate, Emma!” Lorenzo shouted, stepping close, his hands gripping my shoulders. His dark eyes burned with intense emotion. “I lost Juliana. I cannot... I will not lose you, too.”

The words hung in the air between us, charged with an undeniable, electric truth. The air rushed out of my lungs, and for a moment, the gunfire and the mafia wars vanished. I looked up into his face and nodded slowly.