"The Maid Was Fired for Calling the Mafia Boss Home... Until He Saw What His Fiancée Had Done to His Little Girl

The mahogany door didn't groan. It exploded.

The heavy wood splintered under the force of a shoulder, the walnut dresser she and Thomas had placed against the handle sliding across the floor with a loud, scraping shriek.

Two men stepped into the room.

They were tall, dressed in dark wool coats, their faces covered in black ski masks, their hands holding heavy, silenced pistols. They stopped when they saw Beatrice standing in the center of the room, her large frame blocking the view of the bed.

"Where is the girl?" the first man asked, his voice low and threatening.

"She’s not here," Beatrice said, her voice steady, cold, and echoing with the strength of a woman who had nothing left to lose. "She was moved to a safe house hours ago. Your information is old."

The man laughed, a dry, grating sound. "You're a bad liar, maid. Victoria said you were a fighter, but she didn't mention you were stupid. Move aside."

He stepped forward, his pistol raised toward her chest.

Beatrice didn't move. She waited until he was within arm's reach, until she could see the cold, blue light of his eyes behind the mask.

And then, she swung.

She used the full weight of her body, the brass poker whistling through the air with a terrifying force. The heavy metal struck the man's wrist, the sound of the bone breaking echoing through the quiet room like a dry branch snapping.

The pistol fell from his hand, clattering across the carpet.

The man let out a sharp, choked scream, his body collapsing to his knees as he clutched his broken wrist.

The second man didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, his pistol raised, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Beatrice tried to raise the poker again, but her splinted hand buckled under the weight, the pain shooting up her arm like a white-hot needle. She stumbled back, her heel catching on the edge of the rug, her body falling heavily against the mahogany headboard of Lily’s bed.

"Bitch," the second man hissed, stepping over his groaning partner and aiming the gun directly at her forehead. "You're done."

Beatrice closed her eyes. She thought of Lily’s small face, of her grandfather’s compass, of the father who had looked her in the eye and told her she was family. She had kept her promise. She had kept the child safe.

Pop-pop.

The sound was quiet, a double-tap that echoed softly against the walls of the room.

But the pain didn't come.

Beatrice slowly opened her eyes to see the second man standing frozen, his eyes wide with a sudden, blank stare. A small, dark red circle had appeared in the center of his forehead, a thin line of blood trickling down his nose.