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 11:00 PM, the master bedroom had been transformed into a war room.

Dr. Giuliano was bound tightly to the mahogany chair, a heavy silk tie gagging his mouth, his knees bleeding onto a plastic sheet Marco had spread over the rug. Sofia Moretti was handcuffed to the bedpost, her face pale, her lip split from where Marco had struck her when she tried to scream.

On the table in front of me sat three items: Dr. Giuliano’s encrypted satellite phone, Aldo Manfredi’s personal ledger—which Marco had retrieved from the secret passage office—and a glass of pure, clean water that Elena had brought me from the kitchen.

My legs were still weak—the thallium was still in my system, and it would take months of therapy to purge the poison entirely—but I could stand. Supported by an iron cane I hadn't touched in three years, I paced slowly across the room, feeling the strength returning to my heart with every passing second.

Giulia was sitting on the velvet sofa in the corner, eating a bowl of warm soup Elena had prepared for her, watching me with her calm, hazel eyes.

"You walk like a robot," she noted between bites.

A genuine chuckle escaped my throat. "I'm working on it, little one."

I turned my attention to Sofia.

"Your brother Lorenzo has four container ships arriving at Pier 14 on Saturday," I said, tapping the ledger with my cane. "They contain fifty million dollars worth of untraceable European armaments, heading for the South American cartel buyers. Aldo agreed to let those ships dock without port inspection in exchange for twenty million in cash and full control of the union locals."

Sofia glared at me, refusing to speak.

"You don't have to answer," I continued smoothly. "Giuliano was much more cooperative once Marco offered to shatter his elbows."

I picked up the doctor’s satellite phone.

"Marco," I ordered. "Call Captain Bruno at the Harbor Patrol. Tell him Don Dario Castellano is back on his feet and requires an immediate tactical seizure of Pier 14 at midnight."

"Wait!" Sofia cried out, her composure breaking. "Dario, listen to me! If you seize those ships, Lorenzo will unleash an all-out war! He has fifty men positioned in the city right now!"

"Let him," I said, my eyes cold as frozen iron. "Lorenzo built his empire on stealth and poison. I built mine on gunpowder and blood. He will find that New York is very cold this time of year."

I turned to Elena. "Where is Camilla?"

Elena hesitated. "She... she is living in the penthouse on 5th Avenue. Aldo bought it for her three weeks ago using company funds."

I smiled grimly. "My blue diamonds bought her a penthouse. How romantic."

I walked over to the desk, sat down in my leather armchair, and dialed a number on my private line—a number I hadn't called in ten years.

The line rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered.

"Castellano?"

"District Attorney Miller," I said smoothly. "I believe you've been looking for a reason to put Lorenzo Moretti away for the rest of his natural life."

A long silence stretched over the line. Miller was a man I had fought for two decades—a incorruptible prosecutor who had tried to put me behind bars six times and failed every time.

"Dario?" Miller’s voice held immense disbelief. "The word on the street is that you're on your deathbed."

"The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," I replied softly. "How would you like forty tons of illegal military hardware, three Moretti lieutenants, and a corrupt underboss delivered to your doorstep in a neat red ribbon?"

"What do you want in return, Dario?" Miller asked, his prosecutor's mind working instantly.

"Full immunity for my house, full municipal titles for the harbor properties, and an official state protection order for Elena Marchetti and her daughter," I said, looking over at the maid who was wiping tears from her eyes.

Miller didn't hesitate for more than three seconds. "Give me the coordinates."

"Pier 14. Midnight," I said. "And Miller? Bring heavy artillery. Aldo Manfredi thinks he’s attending a victory party tonight."

I hung up the receiver and looked at Marco, who was checking the magazine of his submachine gun.

"Marco," I said.