THE MAFIA BOSS AND THE HOUSEKEEPER'S LITTLE GIRL

Within two minutes, Viktor and three heavily armed security officers entered the laundry room. The air in the room grew thick with tension as Viktor stood at attention, waiting for my command.

"Mr. Vance?" Viktor asked, his heavy Russian accent cutting through the room.

"Take Mr. Harland’s keys, his phone, and his security access badges," I ordered calmly. "Then conduct a full forensic audit of the estate accounts over the last three years. Every vendor receipt, every payroll log, every contractor invoice."

Harland gasped, his eyes darting frantically toward the door. "Luca, you can't do this! This is a violation of my contract! You have no right—"

"I own everything you touch in this city, Harland," I replied coldly. "Including the house you live in and the car you drive. Search his office now."

Viktor grabbed Harland by the arm, dragging the sputtering manager out into the hallway. Harland’s desperate shouts faded into the distance as the heavy oak doors shut behind them.

I turned back to Elena and Nora.

Elena was still shivering on the cold floor, holding Nora tightly. She looked up at me with terror in her eyes, expecting the worst. In her mind, men of my stature and power only operated through force and cruelty.

"Mrs. Vance," I said softly, crouching down to her level. "Can you walk?"

"I... I think so, sir," she stammered, her voice raspy. "Please... are you turning us over to the police?"

"Police?" I let out a low, bitter breath. "No, Mrs. Vance. You are going to the master guest suite. My private physician, Dr. Hayes, is on his way right now."

Elena blinked in utter disbelief. "The... the master suite? But I am just the laundry staff—"

"Under this roof, you are a human being," I said firmly.

I reached down and picked up Nora, lifting her effortlessly into my arms. She wrapped her small, warm arms around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder without hesitation. The contrast between my hard, scarred frame and her soft, innocent presence made the maid in the hallway gasp again.

"Follow me, Elena," I said.

I led them up the grand marble staircase to the West Wing—the most luxurious wing of the mansion, featuring panoramic views of the estate gardens, plush king beds, and radiant heated floors.

I placed Nora gently on the velvet sofa while Elena sat on the edge of the bed, clearly overwhelmed by the opulence.

Dr. Hayes arrived ten minutes later, equipped with medical supplies. After a quick examination, he confirmed severe double pneumonia and dehydration.

"She needs absolute bed rest for at least two weeks, Luca," Dr. Hayes reported, filling a syringe with antibiotics. "If she had worked another full day in that damp laundry room, she would have ended up in the ICU."

I stood near the window, watching the rain strike the glass.

Two weeks of manual labor in freezing water with double pneumonia. Harland hadn't just been strict; he had been deliberately pushing Elena toward a physical collapse.

"Why?" I muttered to myself.

Why would an estate manager actively torture a quiet, hardworking widow?