The most feared mafia boss in New York pretended to sleep because he suspected his new maid was hiding something from him

The underground drainage tunnel was narrow, slick with decades of moss, and barely tall enough for a man of my height to walk without slouching. The sound of our boots splashing through ankle-deep runoff water echoed hollowly against the curved concrete walls.

We moved with absolute, silent urgency. Every second wasted was a second closer to the timer Marcus had set on the estate's heating manifold.

"Keep close to the left wall," I instructed quietly over my shoulder, keeping the beam of my tactical flashlight low to the ground. "The floor drops off into a drainage trench about twenty yards ahead."

Maria followed closely behind me, her breathing coming in steady, controlled gasps. Despite the terror of our situation, she hadn't stumbled once. Beneath the quiet, grieving housekeeper exterior lay the iron nerves of a woman who had survived a nightmare and refused to be broken.

After ten minutes of brisk, exhausting movement through the subterranean dark, the narrow concrete tube suddenly opened up into a larger, circular junction chamber where the old storm drains intersected beneath the western edge of the estate.

Directly above us, set into the arched ceiling of the junction, was a heavy iron manhole cover hidden beneath a thick cluster of overgrown decorative shrubs just fifty feet from the west wing staff quarters.

I holstered my weapon temporarily, reached up, and gripped the heavy iron rungs set into the concrete wall. I climbed up three steps, reached the underside of the manhole cover, and shoved upward with all my strength.

The iron lid scraped against frozen gravel and shifted.

A blast of crisp, freezing night air rushed down into the dark tunnel, carrying the distant, muted sound of wind rustling through the estate’s oak trees.

I pushed the heavy lid completely aside, hoisted myself up through the opening, and rolled silently onto the frosty lawn behind the staff quarters.

A second later, Maria climbed up effortlessly beside me, pulling the waterproof backpack tightly against her chest.

We crouched low in the shadows of the thick boxwood hedges.

The west wing of the mansion was dark, save for a single warm light glowing from the second-floor window of Sofia’s bedroom. The rest of the estate looked peaceful, quiet, and completely unaware of the explosive trap ticking away beneath its foundations.

"Look at your watch," I whispered to Maria.

She lifted her wrist, catching the faint ambient light from the window. "2:45 AM. We have fifteen minutes before Marcus's timer goes off."

"Fifteen minutes is an eternity," I said, a cold, dangerous calm settling over my mind.

I drew my Glock back into my hand, flicking off the safety.

"Stay here in the shadows by the hedge," I instructed her firmly. "Do not move, no matter what you hear."