THE MAFIA BOSS AND THE MIDNIGHT HEIRESS

The crash of shattering glass sounded like an explosion inside the enclosed office.

Dante leaped out of his leather chair, his hand scrambling frantically for the shoulder holster beneath his jacket, but before his fingers could wrap around the grip of his pistol, Alesandro dropped from the ceiling like a falling anvil, landing squarely on top of the desk.

The heavy mahogany split straight down the middle with a deafening crack.

Before Dante could scream, Alesandro’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the silk lapels of his suit and hoisting him clean off his feet with terrifying, superhuman strength. He slammed Dante’s back against the brick wall so hard the plaster dusted down in thick, choking clouds.

"You talk too much, Dante," Alesandro whispered, his voice dangerously soft, carrying the terrifying weight of an executioner.

Lieutenant Rico drew his weapon from his hip, leveling it directly at Alesandro’s head. "Drop him, Duque! I swear to God I’ll—"

Viktor stepped through the shattered doorway behind Rico, the cold barrel of a submachine gun pressed firmly against the base of the enforcer's skull. "Drop the piece, kid, or I’ll turn your spine into confetti."

Rico’s hand trembled. The gun slipped from his fingers, clattering against the hardwood floor.

Dante gasped for air, his face turning a deep, congested shade of purple as Alesandro’s grip tightened around his throat. "You... you’re crazy," Dante choked out, clawing frantically at Alesandro’s wrists. "You’re risking your entire empire... over a brat that isn't even yours?"

Alesandro’s eyes narrowed into two slits of pure, frozen fury.

"She is mine," Alesandro lied, the words tasting like absolute truth in his mouth, because in that single moment, he realized something profound: it didn't matter whose blood ran through her veins. She had chosen him. She had trusted him when every adult in her life had failed or feared him. And in the dark, brutal calculus of his existence, that made her untouchable.

"I’ll give you the docks," Dante choked, tears of panic spilling over his heavy eyelids. "I’ll give you Queens, Brooklyn, the whole coast! Just... just let me breathe."

"You don't own the coast anymore, Dante," Alesandro said coldly. "You own a cemetery plot in New Jersey. And your lease just expired."

With a single, effortless motion, Alesandro drew his Beretta and pressed the cold steel barrel directly against Dante’s forehead.

"This is for the nursery window," Alesandro murmured.