Three gold coins lay on the marble table when I told my maid’s three-year-old daughter she could have any three wishes she wanted. Ellie ignored every toy around her and asked only one question: “Why does Mommy have to say sorry when she didn’t do it?” The moment she said it, I stopped looking at the child and looked at my brother Dante.

By 3:00 AM, the rain had tapered off into a light mist, but the estate was alive with activity.

Black SUVs were lined up along the gravel driveway. My senior lieutenants—men who had remained loyal to me through my years of quiet withdrawal—had arrived from New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia.

The atmosphere in the subterranean boardroom beneath the estate was cold and businesslike.

Dante sat bound to a steel chair at the end of the table. His nose was bloody, his expensive suit ruined, his arrogance finally stripped away, replaced by the wild, rat-like terror of a man who knew he had reached the end of the road.

I sat at the head of the table, the silver flash drive resting beside my elbow.

"The ledgers are verified," Leo reported, standing beside a digital projector screen. "Dante opened offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands under shell companies. He was selling shipping manifests to the Genovese family and skimming five percent off every cargo vessel entering Port Newark. Antonio Rossi caught him. Dante paid two corrupt harbor cops to stage Rossi's fatal crash."

Murmurs of disgust ran through the lieutenants around the table. In our world, stealing from your own family was a death sentence. Murdering an auditor who was loyal to the boss was unforgivable.

"Vince," Dante gasped, his voice raspy, his lip swollen. "Vince, please! We're brothers! Our father—"

"Our father would have put a bullet in your head himself," I interrupted, my voice devoid of any emotion. "You didn't just steal money, Dante. You brought dishonor to our name. You used my dead daughter's memorial night to flex your power over a helpless woman."

I stood up, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt.

"Gino," I commanded.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Dante is no longer a member of the Moretti family. Strip him of his holdings, liquidate his accounts, and hand him over to the federal authorities alongside the evidence of the Genovese deal."

Dante blinked in shock. "The... the feds?! You're handing me to the FBI?!"

"If I kill you, Dante, it’s over in a second," I said, leaning down until my face was inches from his. "I want you to sit in a maximum-security federal cell for the next forty years. I want you to spend every single day knowing that the maid you abused is living in safety, while you wear orange scrubs and eat off plastic trays."

Dante screamed and thritted against his restraints as Gino and two guards hauled the chair backward, dragging him toward the secure exit where federal transport was waiting.

I turned to my lieutenants.

"The war with the Genovese ends tonight," I ordered smoothly. "We freeze their dock access in Newark. We take back our shipping lanes. And if anyone asks why... tell them Vincent Moretti has come back."

The men stood up in unison, bowing their heads with absolute respect.

"Yes, Boss."

As the boardroom cleared, I walked upstairs into the main house.

The morning sun was just beginning to peek over the Atlantic horizon, casting long, warm shafts of golden light through the high windows of the foyer.

I walked into the kitchen.

Clara was sitting at the breakfast island, holding a mug of warm coffee. She looked up as I entered, her eyes cautious, but no longer filled with panic. Ellie was asleep on a soft plush dog bed in the corner, wrapped in a fleece blanket, her one-eyed bear tucked under her arm.

"It’s done, Clara," I said softly, standing on the opposite side of the counter. "Dante is gone. He will never hurt you or your daughter again."

Clara let out a deep, shuddering breath, setting her mug down with a hand that was finally, completely steady.

"What... what happens to us now, Mr. Moretti?" she asked quietly. "My papers are restored, but... we have nowhere to go."