NO ONE WANTED TO CARE FOR THE BROKEN, FORGOTTEN PARALYZED MAFIA BOSS... UNTIL THE MAID'S TODDLER DID

The double doors of the sunroom swung open with violence.

Marco Rossini stepped into the room, flanked by two armed men in heavy leather jackets. Marco looked prosperous—wearing a tailored suit that used to belong to Dante’s style, a diamond ring sparkling on his pinky finger. But his eyes were nervous, darting around the spacious room like a thief checking for traps.

"Dante," Marco purred, throwing his arms out in a theatrical gesture. "Look at you! Resting in luxury while the rest of us sweat in the streets."

Renata rushed in behind them, her face pale, holding her apron. "Mr. Moretti, I tried to stop them—"

"It's fine, Renata," Dante said smoothly, his posture straight in his wheelchair. He didn't look at Marco; he looked at Sofia, who had slid behind his chair, gripping the leather seat back with her small hands. "Renata, take Sofia to the kitchen."

"No," Marco snapped, gesturing to one of his guards to block the doorway. "The kid stays. We’re all family here, aren't we?"

Marco walked over to Dante's desk, picking up a heavy crystal paperweight and tossing it from hand to hand.

"Leo and I are getting impatient, Dante," Marco said, his voice losing its fake warmth. "The bank in Zurich won't release the Swiss accounts without the master key code. The code is in the black ledger. We know you didn't leave it in the car. Where is it?"

Dante leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You came into my home, uninvited, threatening my staff, to ask for money you didn't earn?"

"Earn?" Marco laughed harshly. "You're a cripple, Dante! You sit in this chair rotting away while your empire crumbles! You don't own anything anymore! The streets belong to Leo and me now. Give us the ledger, or we start making things very uncomfortable for your little household."

Marco glanced menacingly toward Renata and Sofia.

Sofia puffed out her chest and stepped out from behind Dante’s wheelchair. "You're mean! Leave the tree man alone!"

Marco scoffed, taking a step toward the child. "Shut up, brat—"

"Take one more step toward her, Marco," Dante’s voice cut through the room like a razor blade, "and I promise you, you won't live to see sunset."

The sheer intensity in Dante’s voice made Marco freeze. For a second, the old terror returned—the memory of Dante Moretti ruling the underworld with an iron fist.

Marco sneered, trying to hide his flinch. "You can't even stand up, Dante. What are you going to do? Shoot me with your eyes?"

"Try me," Dante whispered.

Marco stared at him for three long seconds before spitting on the hardwood floor. "You have forty-eight hours, Dante. Bring us the ledger, or we come back and burn this house to the ground with everyone inside it."

Marco turned and marched out, his two guards trailing behind him.

The heavy front doors slammed shut downstairs.

Silence returned to the room. Renata dropped to her knees, trembling, clutching Sofia against her chest.

Dante looked down at his useless legs under the wool blanket. Then he looked at the small crayon drawing sitting on his side table.

He turned to Renata. "Renata. Go to the basement. Behind the wine cellar rack, there is a steel box locked with a heavy padlock. Bring it to me."