I had cleaned his study, filed his mail, and listened to his late-night phone calls.

I knew about his private bank accounts in the Cayman Islands.

I knew the names of the dummy corporations he used to wash his campaign contributions.

If Damiano’s team could access those accounts, they could destroy Marcus’s political leverage.

“Damiano,” I whispered, taking a step toward him.

“I can help.”

“I know where his money is.”

Enzo laughed, a harsh, dry sound that cut through the dark.

“Be quiet, girl,” Enzo said.

“The bosses are talking.”

“She stays,” Damiano said.

His voice left no room for negotiation.

“Then you are unfit to lead this family,” Enzo said.

His hand drifted toward the gun tucked into his waistband.

He never reached it.

Damiano raised his silver pistol and fired twice in rapid succession.

The muzzle flashes illuminated the room in bright, blinding bursts.

The sound of the gunshots was deafening.

Enzo gasped, his eyes wide with sudden shock.

He clutched his chest as dark blood began to seep through his fingers.

He fell backward, his head hitting the floor with a heavy thud.