A 3-Year-Old Slapped the Birthday Cake Out of His Hands—Seconds Later, the Mafia Boss Learned Someone Had Tried to Kill His Son

Frank didn't fall.

The bullet struck the concrete beside my hand.

I hauled him over the ledge as Quinn tackled the shooter behind me.

Dr. Harris.

He had escaped his chair during the chaos downstairs.

"You idiot!" Frank screamed at him.

Harris struggled beneath Quinn. "He was going to talk! He was going to blame me for everything!"

There it was.

Not loyalty.

Not ideology.

Cowardice.

The whole conspiracy had survived because every man involved believed someone else would take the fall.

Quinn cuffed Harris.

Vincent cuffed Frank.

I sat on the roof, rain soaking through my shirt, and stared at my hands.

They were shaking again.

This time I let them.

At the estate near dawn, Ethan was asleep on a sofa with his head in Sophia's lap. Lily was curled beside him under the same blanket, still holding General Bitey.

Luca stood by the window drinking coffee.

"Frank alive?"

"Unfortunately for him."

"Good."

I looked at my brother. "I thought you did it."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

Luca turned around. "Say it again. I want to record this historic event."

I laughed despite everything.

Then his face softened.

"I would've suspected me too. Frank designed it that way."

Arthur survived surgery. Harris started talking before breakfast. Sloan confessed to entering the cold room disguised as Arthur, sabotaging the camera, and planting the vial in Sophia's locker.

But one question remained.

"Why did Frank call me?" I asked Quinn later. "Why reveal himself before midnight?"

She slid a file across my desk.

"Because he thought Arthur was dead and Harris was under control. He wanted you angry enough to unlock the trust before the scheduled release. He believed you would trade anything for Ethan."

"He was right about that part."

Quinn shook her head. "No. You didn't trade the evidence."

"Because Arthur gave me another option."

"Still counts."

She pointed to the file.

Inside was Elena's ledger.

Names. Dates. Accounts. Politicians. Judges. Union bosses. Old Moretti operations.

My father's legacy, written in numbers.

And my own name appeared on page forty-seven.