1048 When the Cold-Hearted Mafia Boss Hired a Plus-Size Governess to Tame His Orphaned Twins, He Never Expected Her to Unlock the Safe He Kept Locked After His Wife's Murder—or That Refusing to Leave Would Force Him to Choose Between His Empire and His Family

The silver locket lay in the palm of Beatrice’s hand, cold and dented, catching the dim light of the study lamps.

Marciano stared at it, and for a terrifying second, the man who had built an empire on iron and intimidation looked as though he might shatter completely. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin the shade of wet stone. He didn’t shout. He didn’t smash another piece of furniture. He simply closed his eyes, his breathing turning shallow and uneven.

“They didn’t take the gate keys to run away,” Beatrice said, her voice tight with a mixture of dread and sudden, piercing clarity. “They took them because they heard Sullivan’s men talking. Or worse... they wanted to protect you.”

Marciano’s eyes snapped open. The pale blue irises were rimmed with a raw, desperate fury. “Harold! Get the security feeds from the north perimeter. Now.”

“Sir, the north perimeter cameras have been offline for twenty minutes,” Harold said, his voice trembling as he stepped into the doorway, holding a portable tablet. “Someone scrambled the transmission codes from inside the server room.”

Inside the house. Someone had helped Sullivan’s men bypass the estate’s digital shield.

Beatrice looked from Harold to Marciano. The pieces clicked into a horrifying mosaic. It wasn’t a random snatch-and-grab. It was an inside job, timed precisely to shatter Marciano when he was most vulnerable, distracted by the very woman trying to break down his walls.

“They didn’t go into town,” Beatrice said, stepping forward. “And they didn’t run out into the woods. Look at the mud by the side courtyard. The tire tracks aren’t leaving—they just turned around.”

Marciano looked down at the tablet Harold held. On the screen, a secondary backup log showed a service vehicle—one belonging to Bellfort Industrial Systems’ own maintenance fleet—exiting through the north service gate less than ten minutes ago.

“The driver,” Marciano whispered, his voice dangerously low. “Vince. He’s been with us for eight years.”

“People don’t turn after eight years because they want a promotion, Mr. Bellfort,” Beatrice said, her mind racing with a desperate urgency. “They turn because someone found their weak spot. Debt, family, fear. Just like everyone else in this county.”

Marciano didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his heavy wool coat from the back of the chair, his movements swift, terrifyingly precise. The grief was gone, burned away by the white-hot fuel of a father whose children had just been used as leverage against him.

“You’re staying here,” Marciano commanded, turning toward Beatrice with an authority that left no room for debate.

“Like hell I am,” Beatrice snapped back, her chin lifting defiantly. “Those girls think everyone who walks into their lives eventually abandons them or gets driven out. I am not sitting in this house waiting to see if they come back in a box or a briefing. I know the local routes, and I know how children think when they’re trying to leave a trap. I’m coming with you.”

Marciano stared at her, the dark fire in his eyes clashing with her stubborn resolve. For a heartbeat, the air between them crackled with a fierce, unspoken recognition.

“If you get in my way,” Marciano said, his voice a low threat, “I won’t stop to save you.”