A ruthless crime boss laughed when his maid’s three-year-old daughter insisted she could wake his paralyzed little girl’s legs. Minutes later, his daughter moved for the first time in years, and the fearless child revealed a secret connected to his murdered wife that no stranger should have known.

BANG!

A single gunshot shattered the silence, but it didn't come from Marcus's weapon, nor did it come from mine.

Marcus staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock as a dark red stain bloomed across his right shoulder. His pistol dropped onto the marble floor, clattering loudly against the stone.

Behind him, standing near the mahogany doors of the study, stood Leo—my seventy-year-old consigliere and my father’s most trusted soldier. Leo held a smoking revolver in his weathered hand, his eyes cold as granite.

"You forgot the golden rule of this family, Marcus," Leo growled, walking forward with unhurried steps. "You never betray the Don."

Marcus collapsed onto his knees, clutching his bleeding shoulder, spitting blood onto the pristine floor. "Leo... wait... we can make a deal! The syndicate in Chicago—"

"Shut your mouth," I growled, stepping forward and kicking Marcus’s dropped gun across the hall.

I picked up the weapon, racking the slide. I looked down at the man who had served at my side for a decade—the man who had held my daughter at Elena’s funeral, pretending to weep while carrying the blood of her mother on his hands.

"Where are the rest of your men?" I demanded, pressing the cold steel barrel against Marcus’s forehead.

Marcus let out a wet, raspy laugh. "You think... you think it's just me? Julian, I sold your estate perimeter codes three hours ago. The remnants of the Moretti syndicate and their Chicago allies are already at the gates. They know you're weak. They know your daughter is a cripple. By midnight, this house will burn."

"They can try," I whispered.

I pulled the trigger.

THUD.

Marcus’s body fell lifelessly onto the marble floor.

Leo stepped beside me, reloading his revolver with calm, practiced efficiency. "He wasn't lying about the gates, Julian. Surveillance monitors in the basement show three heavy SUVs idling at the north entrance. They've cut the main landlines."

"Secure the perimeter," I ordered, turning toward the stairs. "Gather every loyal soldier we have on the property. We lock down the main house."

"And the maid and her child?" Leo asked.

"They stay in the panic room beneath the pool house," I said. "That child did what twenty million-dollar specialists couldn't do. She gave my daughter back her life. I will burn every enemy in this city before I let a single hair on her head be harmed."

I ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time, heading straight for the garden patio where Isabella was still waiting.

When I reached her, she was holding the armrests of her wheelchair, her breath heavy, her face flushed with effort.

"Daddy!" she cried out as I approached. "Look!"

I stopped in my tracks.

Isabella was standing.

Her knees were shaking violently, her hands were clutching the armrests for balance, but both of her feet were planted flat on the stone patio. She was standing on her own two legs for the first time in thirty-six months.

"It hurts, Daddy," she sobbed, a mix of agony and pure joy echoing in her voice. "It feels like fire... but I can feel the ground!"

I rushed forward, catching her under her arms just as her knees buckled. I lifted her into my arms, pressing her against my chest, feeling her heart beating wildly against mine.