162 "The Mafia Boss Came Home Early and Heard His Silent Daughters Singing—Then Their First Words Exposed the Most Trusted Man in His Empire!"

The heavy oak doors of the study vibrated as a dull, concussive thud echoed from the main foyer.

Flashbang.

The security system’s master display flickered violently on the wall screens. One by one, the exterior cameras went dark as static consumed the feeds. Gate 1: offline. Perimeter fence sector four: breached.

Dominic didn't blink. His training as an enforcer and syndicate boss kicked in instantly, pushing the shock of Vince’s betrayal deep down into the dark corners of his mind. He spun away from the accountant, his pistol raised toward the doorway.

"Grace, get back upstairs to the girls," Dominic ordered, his voice commanding absolute obedience.

Grace didn't move an inch. Instead, she tossed a heavy black tactical vest across the room. It landed squarely on the desk with a dull thud, heavy with ceramic plates and extra magazines.

"Your security detail didn't miss the alarm, Mr. Romano," Grace said, her accent shifting subtly from the mild mid-Atlantic cadence she had used for two months into something crisper, colder, unmistakably federal. "Sal and the boys were neutralized ten minutes ago before you even reached the driveway. The men coming through that front door aren't local enforcers. They're cleaning crew from the Commission."

Vince chuckled from the armchair, slowly standing up and brushing invisible lint off his lapel.

"Did you really think I’d work alone, Dom? You built an empire, but empires rot from the head down. The Commission decided months ago that Romano Shipping needed new management. And Grace here? Well, she was supposed to be our inside asset to monitor the girls' psychological state and make sure they didn't blabber."

Dominic turned his fierce gaze back to Grace. The betrayal burned hotter than Vince’s. "You."

Grace met his gaze without flinching, though a flicker of genuine remorse crossed her gray eyes.

"I'm Special Agent Sarah Miller, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Organized Crime Task Force," she said clearly, pulling a gold badge from the inside pocket of her simple housekeeper's cardigan and flashing it for half a second before tucking it away. "I’ve been undercover in this house for sixty days trying to build a RICO case against you and your associates, Romano. But Vince’s employers found out about my operation today. They didn't send a hit squad just to kill you—they sent them to wipe out everyone in this house so nobody talks."

Another heavy crash shook the hallway outside. The sound of splintering mahogany echoed through the east wing. They were breaking through the inner foyer doors.

Dominic looked at Grace, then at Vince, who was now backing slowly toward the reinforced panic room panel behind the bookshelf.

"If they're here to wipe out everyone," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper, "that includes your little federal operation, Agent Miller."

"Which is why," Grace said, stepping smoothly beside Dominic and racking the slide of a compact Glock she had drawn from the small of her back, "you and I are going to have to work together if we want to see tomorrow sunrise."

Dominic looked down at the tactical vest on the desk, then back at Grace. In the span of three seconds, his entire life had dissolved: his wife was murdered by his closest advisor, his house was compromised by the federal government, and his daughters were trapped upstairs with a death squad downstairs.

"If we survive this," Dominic muttered, his eyes cold as winter ice, "we're having a very long conversation about your undercover credentials."