THE MAFIA BOSS’S SECRET HEIRS

“My father?” The words tasted like ash. “Vincenzo is dead, Mom. He died of a heart attack three years ago. I buried him myself.”

My mother let out a rattling sigh, her grip on my shirt tightening. “You buried a closed casket, Dominic. You buried fifty pounds of sand and a tailored suit.”

The floor seemed to drop out from beneath me. The undisputed Don of Boston, the man who had controlled the city with an iron fist, had faked his own death.

“Why?” I demanded, pressing a clean towel from the counter against my mother’s bleeding abdomen. “Why would he fake his death? Why would he take the boys?”

“Because he knew Marco was planning a coup,” my mother explained, her voice growing weaker. “Vincenzo knew the Barretts were backing Marco. He knew he couldn’t win a direct war. So he stepped into the shadows. He let Marco think he had won. But Vincenzo never stopped playing the game.”

She looked at Clara. “He didn’t sell you to the Barretts, Clara. He sent you away to hide the heirs. To protect the bloodline until the boys were old enough to be weaponized.”

Clara recoiled as if she had been struck. “Weaponized? They are six years old!”

“To Vincenzo, they aren't children,” my mother said sadly. “They are the ultimate bargaining chips. With four legitimate Moretti heirs in his possession, Vincenzo can demand absolute loyalty from the remaining capos. He can crush Marco’s rebellion and force the Barretts into submission without firing a single shot.”

I stared at the blood-stained map on the table. “The train ticket to Maine. That’s where he took them.”

“There’s an old logging compound,” my mother nodded, her eyes fluttering closed. “Near the Canadian border. He’s been hiding there for three years. He intercepted your van at the switchback. He has his own ghost squad.”

“Luca!” I shouted. “Get the med-kit! Call the underground doctor in Manchester. Tell him we have a priority one trauma coming in.”

I looked back down at my mother. “Hang on, Mom. We’re getting you out of here.”

“No,” she whispered, pushing my hands away. “Leave me. I’m slowing you down. Go get your sons, Dominic. Don’t let him turn them into monsters.”

“I’m not leaving you again,” I said fiercely. I scooped her up in my arms, carrying her out of the ruined cabin and into the cold night air.

We loaded her into the back of the minivan, pushing Sloane roughly aside. Luca patched the wound as best he could, but she was fading fast.

“How far is the logging compound?” Clara asked, her voice vibrating with a lethal, terrifying focus.

“Three hours,” I said, getting into the driver's seat. I looked at the rearview mirror. Sloane was staring at me, her arrogant smirk completely erased by the revelation that Vincenzo Moretti was still alive.

“You’re driving into a slaughterhouse, Dominic,” Sloane warned, genuine fear in her voice. “If Vincenzo is alive, he has an army up there. You, a bleeding woman, and a schoolteacher can’t take down a fortified compound.”

“She’s right, Boss,” Luca said quietly from the back seat. “We need backup.”

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. “There is no backup, Luca. Anyone I call might belong to Marco. It’s just us.”

Clara reached across the console and placed her hand over mine.

“Dominic,” she said softly.

I looked at her.

She reached into her trench coat and pulled out a small, encrypted satellite phone.

“I told you I spent five years paying ex-military contractors to teach me how to protect my kids,” Clara said.

She dialed a number on the heavy plastic keypad. It rang twice.

“Echo Actual,” a deep, gravelly voice answered on the other end.

“This is Mother Bird,” Clara said into the phone. The codename sounded absurd, but the absolute authority in her voice made the hair on my arms stand up. “The nest has been breached. Code Black. I need the package delivered to the Maine coordinates in two hours.”

“Copy that, Mother Bird. The package is airborne. ETA ninety minutes.”

Clara hung up the phone. She looked at me, a fierce, unapologetic warrior who had hidden behind the guise of a kindergarten teacher for far too long.

“I didn't just buy a cabin, Dominic,” Clara said. “I bought an insurance policy. A team of private operators on retainer. If your father thinks he can take my sons and lock them in a compound, he’s about to find out what a real war looks like.”