The Mafia boss secretly returned before dawn from London to test his fiancée, only to catch her terrorizing his widowed sister and plotting to steal his dead mother's trust

By midnight, the grand conservatory was empty, the champagne glasses cleared away, and the glittering elite of Newport had retreated to their hotels and yachts, buzzing with the scandal of the year.

Inside the subterranean security bunker, the atmosphere was thick with tension.

Emma stood beside the main desk as Marco—Dominic’s head of security—slapped a thick stack of printed financial documents down onto the metal surface.

“You were right, Boss,” Marco said, his jaw tight. “We audited the internal compliance network. Someone inside the corporate office gave Arthur Harrington direct backdoor access to the family trust portfolios three weeks ago.”

Dominic leaned against the desk, flipping through the printed pages of wire transfers, offshore shell company registries, and forged legal affidavits.

“Who?” Dominic asked quietly.

“Julian Vance,” Marco replied. “Your senior vice president of legal compliance. He’s been taking six-figure kickbacks from Arthur Harrington’s real estate firm to push through the rezoning permits for the east bluff.”

Emma gasped, covering her mouth. “Julian? But he’s been with the Mercer corporation for fifteen years! He attended your mother’s funeral!”

“Greed has a short memory, Emma,” Dominic said without looking up, his finger tracing a signature on one of the forged trust waivers. “And Brooke was the bridge between Julian and Arthur. She promised Julian a seat on the board once she married into controlling interest of the estate.”

He looked up, his eyes hard as flint.

“Where is Brooke right now?”

“Locked in her guest suite,” Marco said. “She’s been screaming into her phone for the last hour trying to reach Arthur, but Arthur’s phone has been disconnected by federal agents ten minutes ago.”

Emma stared at Dominic, a thrill of cold satisfaction washing over her. “Federal agents? What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything illegal,” Dominic said calmly, standing up and buttoning his jacket. “I simply forwarded the complete wire-fraud dossier on Arthur Harrington and Julian Vance to the SEC and the FBI’s white-collar crime division. When you play in high-stakes finance, you don't need to punch your enemies. You just hand the authorities the smoking gun.”

He looked at Emma.

“I need you to do something for me.”

Emma straightened her shoulders. “Name it.”

“Brooke left her personal planning laptop on the desk in my study,” Dominic said. “I want you to go upstairs, retrieve it, and bring it down here. There’s an encrypted folder containing her personal communications with Arthur regarding Natalie’s trust. Once we have that file open, the trap is completely shut.”

“Consider it done,” Emma said.

She left the bunker, navigating the silent, dimly lit corridors of the mansion. The house felt eerie, wrapped in the heavy, brooding silence of an impending storm.

When she reached the private study on the ground floor, she pushed the heavy oak door open.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the pale moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cliffs.

Emma walked over to the oak desk. Sure enough, Brooke’s sleek silver laptop sat right beside the blotter, its screen dark.

As Emma reached out to pick it up, a shadow detached itself from the bookshelves near the corner of the room.

“Looking for something, little housekeeper?”

Emma froze.

She whipped around.

Brooke stood near the shadows, wearing a black silk robe. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared under her eyes from hours of crying and panic. In her hand, she held a heavy crystal decanter by the neck.

“Brooke,” Emma breathed, backing away toward the door. “I was just...”

“You were just snooping,” Brooke hissed, taking a slow step forward. The polite, sweet facade was entirely gone. Her face was twisted into a mask of feral, unhinged rage. “You think you’ve won, don't you? You and that pathetic cleaning staff think you can undermine me?”

“Put the decanter down, Brooke,” Emma said, keeping her voice as steady as possible, though her heart was hammering against her ribs.

“I am going to marry Dominic tomorrow,” Brooke whispered, her voice trembling with manic intensity. “Do you hear me? Tomorrow! He’s just angry right now because of his stupid sister! Once we are married, the first thing I’m going to do is have you thrown out into the street with zero reference, zero pay, and zero dignity.”

She lunged forward, swinging the crystal decanter toward Emma’s shoulder.

Emma reacted on pure survival instinct. She ducked to the side, grabbing a heavy silver letter opener from the desk and holding it out defensively.

Before Brooke could swing again, the study doors flew open with a tremendous crash.

Dominic stood in the doorway.

He didn't run. He didn't shout.

He simply crossed the room in three massive strides, his hand shooting out to catch Brooke’s wrist mid-swing, wrenching the heavy crystal decanter out of her grip and tossing it carelessly across the room where it shattered against the fireplace.

Brooke gasped, stumbling back against the bookshelf, staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Dominic...” she whimpered, changing tactics in a microsecond, tears flooding her eyes again. “She... she broke into your study! She was stealing your private documents!”

Dominic didn't look at Brooke. He kept his eyes fixed on her as he pulled Emma gently behind his shoulder, shielding her completely.

“Emma,” Dominic said quietly, his voice like ice. “Take the laptop down to the bunker.”

Emma nodded, snatching the silver laptop off the desk. “Yes, Mr. Mercer.”