The letters I had already pocketed were damning enough.

They detailed a cold, calculated plan to make Leo appear permanently unhinged.

Silvio didn’t just want Leo sick; he wanted the boy to look completely brain-damaged.

Under the rules of the DeLuca syndicate, a man who could not manage his own household could not lead the family.

Matteo’s grief and distraction would be used as weapons against him.

The other captains at the table would see a broken father, a man unfit to rule.

They would demand a change in leadership.

Silvio would step into the vacuum, claiming he was doing it to preserve the DeLuca legacy.

It was a bloodless coup, executed with drops of chemical poison in a toddler’s warm milk.

“You’re very quiet, Jenkins,” Dino said, his hand stopping near the edge of the mirror.

“I don’t like to gossip, sir,” I said. “And I have a lot of work to do.”

“Silvio is downstairs,” Dino said, watching my reaction. “He’s meeting with Matteo in the study.”

The news made my stomach drop.

If Silvio was here, the timeline was moving faster than I had anticipated.