"She Put Something in Your Cake!" A Homeless Girl Warned the Mafia Boss About His Cake—Seconds Later His Fiancée Collapsed, and One Detail on the Security Footage Revealed Who Had Planned the Funeral

The dawn broke over the Hamptons, painting the Atlantic ocean in soft, bruised shades of purple and pink. I sat on the back terrace of the estate, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, watching the waves crash against the cliffs.

The property was swarming with Alessandro's cleaners, silently erasing the evidence of the night's battle. The bodies were gone, the blood was washed away, and a fleet of private ambulances had discreetly transported Marco and the other wounded men to a secure underground clinic.

Emma was asleep on the sofa inside, oblivious to the cleanup happening just outside the glass doors.

Alessandro walked out onto the terrace, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. He had changed out of his tactical gear into a simple gray sweater and slacks, though he still looked exhausted. The heavy burden of the night weighed clearly on his face.

He handed me a mug and sat beside me on the cold stone bench.

"Marco is going to pull through," Alessandro said softly, staring out at the water. "The bullet missed his artery. He's demanding to be back at work by next week."

I managed a weak smile. "He's stubborn."

"He's loyal," Alessandro corrected, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. "Just like you."

"Are we safe now?" I asked, resting my head against his chest, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Lorenzo is in federal custody under a John Doe alias. The prosecutor we own is ensuring he gets buried under the Patriot Act for domestic terrorism. He will never see the sun again." Alessandro kissed the top of my head. "The other family heads know what happened. They know I spared him, and they know I handed him to the Feds. It sends a stronger message than a bullet ever could."