The Clumsy Maid Took a Blow Meant for a Mafia Queen, and What Her Son Did Next Terrified Everyone

Downstairs, in the sprawling subterranean garage beneath the Rossi estate, Bianca Moretti was loading her Louis Vuitton luggage into the trunk of her red Mercedes convertible with trembling, furious hands.

"This isn't over!" she hissed, slamming the trunk lid down with a deafening crash that echoed off the concrete pillars.

Marco leaned against a concrete column nearby, smoking a thin cigarette, his face impassive. "The car is fueled, Miss Moretti. The gates are open."

Bianca whirled around, her eyes wild with humiliation and rage. "You tell Dominic that my father will pull every dollar of investment out of his shipping ports by Monday morning. I will ruin him. I will make sure that fat, worthless maid and that senile hag of a mother are thrown out onto the streets with nothing!"

Marco took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling a thin cloud of grey smoke into the damp air. He didn't blink.

"The Boss doesn't negotiate with threats, Miss Moretti," Marco said evenly. "Especially not from people who forget their place in his house."

With a choked cry of pure fury, Bianca yanked open the driver’s side door, threw herself inside, and gunned the engine. The Mercedes roared to life, tires squealing against the concrete as she rocketed out of the underground garage and up the winding driveway toward the main gates.

Marco watched her tail lights vanish into the rainy night. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a satellite phone, and dialed a single digit speed dial.

"It's done," Marco said into the receiver. "She's gone. She's heading straight for her father's estate in Manhattan."

"Good," Dominic’s voice came back over the line, crisp and cold. "Activate the surveillance protocols on Salvatore Moretti. I want to know every phone call he makes, every account he moves, and every meeting he attends between now and sunrise."

"Already on it, Boss," Marco replied. "And the girl?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.