The mafia boss returned home earlier than expected, then his maid grabbed his arm and whispered, “Don’t make a sound.”
Vincent Torino wasn’t supposed to be at home.
She had just entered her room when a hand emerged from the darkness.
Cold fingers firmly covered his mouth.
“Please be quiet.”
She was the waitress.
Elena dragged him back to the dressing room, slammed the door, and held him there, her palm still pressed to her lips.
His heart wasn’t beating strongly.
His instincts didn’t make him panic.
But his hands were trembling.
Through the narrow crack in the closet door, Vincent saw the bedroom lights turn on.
Measures
It’s not up to you.
It’s not his wife’s.
There was another person inside his house.
Elena leaned so far forward that he could feel her breath.
“They think you’re still traveling,” she whispered.
“If they hear you, you won’t leave this room.”
A drawer slid open.
The metal made a faint click.
It was only then that Vincent understood.
The most dangerous moment of his life did not take place on the street.
He was just inches away, inside his own house.
Vicente Torino ruled the city with a reputation forged in blood and silence.
For 30 years, he built an empire where respect was the norm and loyalty, a life insurance policy.
His enemies knew that the best thing to do was not to enter his territory.
His allies knew the price they would have to pay for defying him.
But, standing in that closet, surrounded by expensive suits that exuded an air of power and danger, Vincent realized something terrifying.
