THE MAFIA KING'S HOUSEKEEPER

The rain had started to fall, washing the blood from the marble courtyards. I slipped through the shadows, avoiding the remaining skirmishes, my eyes fixed on the helipad. The rotors of Ricci's helicopter were already spinning, the deafening sound masking my approach.

Don Ricci, an older, ruthless man with a scarred face, was shouting orders to his guards as he hurried toward the chopper.

"Ricci!" I screamed, stepping out from the cover of the hedges, the gun raised in both hands.

He stopped, turning around. His guards raised their weapons, but Ricci held up a hand, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his face as he recognized me. "The housekeeper. You have a lot of nerve, girl. Your rat of a husband didn't have half your spine."

"You killed him," I yelled over the rain and the rotors. "You tore my life apart!"

"It was just business," he sneered. "And now, I'll finish the job."

Before his guards could fire, a sharp crack echoed through the night. One of Ricci's guards dropped dead. Then another.

Alessandro emerged from the darkness behind me, his clothes soaked in blood and rain, his eyes fixed on Ricci with a demonic fury. "No one touches her," he commanded, his voice projecting over the storm.

Ricci panicked and lunged for the helicopter, but Alessandro was faster. He shot Ricci in the kneecap. The old don collapsed on the wet tarmac, screaming in agony.

Alessandro walked up to him, his gun pointed at Ricci's head. But then, he looked at me. "He killed your husband, Clara. He took away Emma's father." He held out a secondary weapon toward me. "Do you want to do it?"

I stared at the gun. I thought about the years of poverty, the tears, the pain. I looked at Ricci, begging and bleeding on the ground. My finger twitched on the trigger of my own gun. But then, I thought of Emma. If I pulled the trigger, I would cross a line into Alessandro's world—a world of blood and death. I didn't want to be a killer. I wanted to be a mother.