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 side door of the warehouse wasn’t locked; it was propped open with a rusted bolt.

The interior smelled of damp concrete, stale diesel fumes, and old dust. High above, shattered skylights let in pale ribbons of moonlight that sliced through the cavernous gloom. Stacks of empty wooden pallets and rusted shipping containers formed a labyrinth of shadows across the concrete floor.

Footsteps echoed softly from somewhere near the center of the structure, accompanied by the murmur of a low voice.

“...your old man thinks he owns the county, little girl,” a raspy voice sneered. “Let’s see how tough he acts when he has to choose between his empire and his blood.”

“My dad isn’t afraid of you,” Gia’s voice rang out—brave, clear, and laced with a defiant tremor that broke Beatrice’s heart. “He’s going to take your teeth out.”

“Quiet, you little brat!”

Marciano moved with terrifying speed. Before Beatrice could blink, he had vaulted over a low stack of tires, his boots hitting the concrete with barely a sound. Beatrice stayed right behind him, her pulse roaring in her ears, her eyes scanning the shadows.

They rounded a stack of rusted steel beams and entered a makeshift office area framed by chain-link fencing and plastic sheeting.

Inside sat Vince, looking pale and deeply regretful, staring down at his hands. Across from him stood a scarred enforcer holding a switchblade loosely at his side.

And tied back-to-back to an old office chair in the center of the room were Gia and Frankie.

Frankie’s eyes were wide and dry, her jaw set in a rigid line of absolute silence. Gia was sobbing quietly, trying desperately to keep her shoulders from shaking, her eyes locked on the doorway.

When Gia saw Marciano step through the chain-link gate, her breath hitched.

“Dad…”

The enforcer spun around, cursing, his hand flying toward his jacket.

He didn’t even clear leather.

Marciano crossed the ten-foot gap in a heartbeat, his fist driving forward with the brutal, unstoppable momentum of a freight train. The impact echoed like a gunshot through the empty warehouse. The enforcer crashed backward into a stack of plastic crates, his eyes rolling back before he hit the floor, unconscious.

Vince scrambled backward out of his chair, his hands raised in terror. “Mr. Bellfort... I swear, I didn’t want them hurt! Sullivan said—he just said we’d talk—”

Marciano didn’t look at Vince. He dropped the gun into his pocket, fell to his knees in front of his daughters, and immediately began frantically untying the heavy plastic zip-ties biting into their wrists.

“You’re okay,” Marciano muttered, his voice cracking, his large, powerful hands trembling as he worked the knots free. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Frankie’s hands fell free, but instead of pulling away, she reached out, her small fingers touching her father’s bruised knuckles with a tentative, unbelieving gentleness.

“You came,” Frankie whispered, her voice cracking for the first time.

Marciano pulled both girls into his arms, burying his face against their shoulders, holding them so tightly it seemed he was trying to weld them back into his own chest.

Beatrice stood by the entrance, watching them, a heavy, aching warmth spreading through her chest.

Suddenly, a metallic click echoed from the shadows behind the office partition.

“Well, well,” a smooth, cold voice drawled.

Step by step, Sullivan emerged from the gloom, holding a small, snub-nosed revolver. His lip was still swollen from Marciano’s punch earlier, but his eyes were entirely dead.