“Dominic, wait!” Clara gasped, running after me, grabbing my forearm. “Don't bring your violence into this house! The boys are in the next room!”

I stopped, looking down at her hand on my sleeve, then turned my head to offer her a quiet, reassuring smile.

“No violence will cross this threshold, Clara,” I promised softly. “I give you my word.”

I opened the heavy oak door six inches, blocking the entryway with my broad shoulders.

Standing in the dimly lit hallway outside was my younger brother, Anthony, flanked by two senior Moretti family capos dressed in heavy trench coats. Anthony looked furious; his hair was disheveled, his tie was crooked, and his face was flushed red with anger.

“Have you completely lost your mind, Dominic?!” Anthony hissed, keeping his voice down to avoid attracting the neighbors' attention. “Sloane Barrett is crying in the conservatory! Her father has already contacted the harbor commissioners to revoke our shipping permits! The entire board is holding an emergency meeting at the estate in thirty minutes!”

“The engagement is off, Anthony,” I said cleanly, my voice flat and unyielding. “Tell Barrett his permits are his own problem.”

Anthony stared at me in utter disbelief. “Over what?! Over some old flame from six years ago?!” He tried to peer past my shoulder into the apartment. “Who is she, Dominic? Who is worth burning our entire family infrastructure to the ground for?!”

I stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me until it clicked securely, locking my brother out of my family’s sanctuary.

I stepped inches from Anthony’s face, towering over him, my gray eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute authority that made both senior capos instinctively step back.

“Listen to me very carefully, Anthony,” I whispered, every word dropping like a heavy iron weight. “Inside that apartment is Clara Vance. And sitting in that living room are my four six-year-old sons. My legitimate heirs.”

Anthony’s jaw dropped. The anger on his face evaporated instantly, replaced by sheer, staggering shock. “Four… four sons?”

“Yes,” I continued, leaning in closer. “Four Morettis. If anyone from the Barrett family, any member of our board, or any enemy of this syndicate so much as walks down this street, I will not call a tribunal. I will liquidate every asset they own and put them six feet under the pavement. Do you understand me?”

Anthony swallowed hard, his throat clicking as he looked at the locked door, then back at my face. He recognized the look in my eyes—it was the look of a man who had found something worth dying for.

“The board won't accept this quietly, Dominic,” Anthony warned, his voice shaking slightly. “Father’s old allies wanted the Barrett money.”

“I am the head of this family, Anthony,” I replied coldly. “Not Father’s ghosts. Tell the board that if they want to challenge my leadership, they can meet me at the docks tomorrow morning at eight. Now get out of my hallway.”

Anthony hesitated for two seconds, then nodded slowly, signaling his capos to fall back. “Eight o'clock at the docks, Dominic. God help us all.”

They turned and hurried down the brownstone stairs, disappearing into the rainy night.

I stood alone in the quiet hallway for a moment, taking a deep breath, smoothing down my shirt collar, and releasing the lethal tension in my shoulders.

Then I unlocked the door and stepped back inside the warm, lemon-scented sanctuary of my real home.