omg My most trusted lieutenant prepared to steal my empire while illness chained me to my bed, and the woman I loved vanished with my diamonds. But everything changed when a maid’s five-year-old daughter walked past my guards, knocked three times on my door, and told me I wasn’t dying—I was being haunted.

By 8:30 PM, the trap was set.

The master bedroom was bathed in dim, gloomy light. I lay in bed, my eyes half-closed, my breathing forced into shallow, ragged gasps. I had rubbed grey ash from the fireplace onto my cheeks and lips, giving my skin the ghastly, sunken appearance of a man forty-eight hours from the grave.

Elena was on her knees by the cold hearth, quietly sweeping ashes into a brass pan.

Marco was invisible behind the heavy damask curtains near the north bookcase, a custom-suppressed .45 caliber pistol held steadily in his hand.

At precisely 9:00 PM, three soft clicks echoed from the rosewood bookcase.

The heavy shelf swung outward on concealed steel hinges, revealing a dark, narrow brick passage. Two figures stepped silently into the bedroom.

The first was Dr. Giuliano—a tall, hawk-nosed man with slick grey hair, wearing his silver-framed spectacles. Behind him walked Sofia Moretti. She was strikingly beautiful, with dark eyes, razor-sharp cheekbones, and a crisp white nurse's uniform that belied the cold violence in her posture.

Sofia carried a small silver tray bearing a fresh thermos and a hypodermic needle.

"Is he still breathing?" Sofia whispered, her voice dripping with callous indifference.

Dr. Giuliano stepped over to the bed, pulled out a penlight, and shone it directly into my left eye. I forced my pupil to remain still, unfocused, staring blankly into the ceiling as if I were slipping into a coma.

"His heart rate is down to forty bpm," Giuliano murmured, checking my wrist pulse. "The thallium has reached his thoracic nerves. Two more doses, Sofia, and his respiratory system will collapse completely. The coroner will sign off on organ failure due to ALS."

Sofia smiled—a sharp, poisonous expression. She set the thermos on the nightstand and picked up the hypodermic needle.

"Aldo wants it done by Friday," she said, tapping the syringe to clear air bubbles. "The Moretti shipments are arriving at Pier 14 on Saturday morning. He needs Dario in the ground before the docks are transferred."

"What about the maid?" Giuliano asked, glancing over at Elena, who was keeping her head down, sweeping the hearth with trembling hands.

Sofia glanced at Elena with utter contempt. "She knows nothing. Once the old man dies, fire her. If she speaks, Lorenzo will handle her."

My blood boiled beneath my skin, a roaring fire of rage that required every ounce of my formidable willpower to conceal. They were going to murder me, take my harbor, and execute a innocent maid and her child.

Sofia stepped toward my bed, lifting my right arm to inject the serum into my IV tube.

"Do it quickly," Giuliano grumbled. "Aldo is downstairs in the library opening a bottle of Dario's fifty-year-old cognac. He wants to celebrate early."

Sofia pressed the needle against the rubber port of my IV line.

NOW.

I didn't wait for Marco.

With a sudden, violent movement that defied every medical law of my supposed paralysis, my left hand shot out like an iron vise, grabbing Sofia’s throat with suffocating force.

Her eyes bulged in absolute shock as I yanked her down onto the mattress.

Dr. Giuliano gasped, stumbling backward, but before he could reach for the secret passage door, Marco stepped out from behind the velvet curtain.

THWIP. THWIP.

Two suppressed rounds slammed into Dr. Giuliano’s knees.

The doctor let out a muffled scream and collapsed onto the hardwood floor, clutching his shattered kneecaps as blood pooled over his expensive leather shoes.

Sofia thrashed against my grip, her hands tearing at my fingers, but the adrenaline flowing through my veins was the pure, unfiltered rage of a lion who had been caged for forty days. I squeezed her throat until her face turned purple and her knees buckled against the bed frame.

"Look at me, Sofia," I hissed into her ear, my face inches from hers. "Look at the dying man."

She choked, her dark eyes filled with absolute, paralyzing terror as she realized the paralysis was a lie.

"Elena," I commanded calmly, without releasing my grip on the assassin's throat. "Take the syringe from her hand."

Elena rushed forward, her hands steady now, and snatched the needle from Sofia’s trembling fingers.

"Marco," I said. "Tie the doctor to that chair. Use the leather belts from my closet. If he makes a sound, put a bullet through his tongue."

"Yes, Don Dario!" Marco hissed, dragging the groaning, bleeding doctor toward the heavy armchair.

I dragged Sofia onto her knees beside the bed, pressing her face against the mahogany nightstand.

"You and Aldo thought I was blind," I whispered, my voice rattling against her ear like dry bones. "You thought you could walk into my home, poison my tea, and hand my harbor to the Moretti family?"

"Dario... please..." she choked out, her pride entirely shattered. "Lorenzo... Lorenzo forced me... Aldo promised—"

"I don't care what Aldo promised," I snarled.