# A MAID TAKES HER DAUGHTER TO PLAY WITH THE MAFIA BOSS’S BABY — THEN SOMETHING UNBELIEVABLE HAPPENED

The storm was howling over the Hudson River when Alio arrived at the marina. Torrential rain lashed the docks, turning the wooden walkways into slick, treacherous runways. Fog hung low over the black water, cut only by the rhythmic flashing of the navigation buoys.

At Slip 4, The Donna Bella—a hundred-foot luxury yacht belonging to the Moretti shell corporation—was preparing to cast off its lines. Its twin diesel engines chugged with a low, deep vibration that rumbled through the dock pilings.

Gianni Moretti stood on the aft deck beneath the canvas canopy, pacing frantically with a satellite phone pressed to his ear.

“What do you mean the comms went dead?!” Gianni screamed into the phone. “Did they get the brat or not? Answer me!”

A cold, level voice spoke from the shadows behind the boarding gangway.

“They didn't get the brat, Gianni.”

Gianni spun around, nearly dropping the phone.

Alio stepped out from the darkness of the pier into the dim deck lights. He was soaked to the skin, his white tuxedo shirt plastered to his chest, the rain streaming down his face. In his right hand, he held a heavy steel crowbar he had retrieved from the dockmaster’s shed. Behind him, emerging from the fog like wraiths of vengeance, were twelve Salvatore enforcers carrying automatic weapons.

Gianni’s remaining four deckhands reached for their weapons, but before their hands cleared their holsters, the Salvatore strike team opened fire. Suppressed rounds chewed through the fiberglass railings, dropping the bodyguards into the dark water with swift, terrifying efficiency.

Gianni fell to his knees on the teak deck, scrambling backward toward the salon doors, his hands held up in pathetic, shivering surrender.

“Alio... wait! Wait! We can settle this!” Gianni stammered, his expensive loafers slipping on the wet deck. “Carlo’s estate... you can have it all! The accounts in the Caymans! The shipping terminals in Newark! Take it! Just let me board the tender! I’ll leave the country tonight! You’ll never see my face again!”

Alio walked up the gangway with slow, deliberate steps. He tossed the crowbar aside; it clattered loudly against the deck before rolling into the scuppers. He reached beneath his coat, drew his Kimber .45, and stood over the cowering man.

“You broke into my home while my children were sleeping, Gianni,” Alio said softly, his voice cutting clearly through the roar of the rain. “You made my son cry. You made the woman I love bleed.”

Gianni’s eyes widened with sudden, horrific understanding. “The woman you love? The maid? You’re throwing away the rules of the Commission for a servant girl?!”

“She is not a servant,” Alio said, resting the cold muzzle of the gun against Gianni’s forehead. “She is my home. And you just tried to burn it down.”

BANG.

The gunshot was swallowed by the crack of thunder rolling across the river. Gianni slumped sideways onto the teak deck, his eyes staring blankly up at the driving rain.

Alio lowered the weapon. He turned to Dante, who was waiting at the foot of the gangway with an umbrella.