Billionaire Mafia Boss Laughed, “She’ll Come Back”... Because She Left Her Ring on the Marble Floor — Until He Discovered Why His Wife Had Been Quietly Saving His Soul

Downstairs on the street, parked three cars away from the Escalade, Paulie watched through the frosted windshield as a sleek black sedan pulled up quietly alongside them.

The rear door of the sedan opened, and a large, heavy-set man in an expensive gray trench coat stepped out, flanked by two armed guards.

Mikhail Tarasov. The reigning boss of the Russian syndicate in Brighton Beach.

Paulie’s hand instantly went to the Sig Sauer tucked under his armpit. He rolled down the window an inch, cold air rushing in.

“Tarasov,” Paulie called out, keeping his voice level. “Lost your way, old man? This is DeVito territory.”

Tarasov smiled, showing a flash of gold against gray lips. He walked slowly through the slush, leaning heavily on a carved wooden cane, stopping right beside the driver’s window of Paulie’s car.

“DeVito territory?” Tarasov chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound like grinding stones. “My friend, look around you. The wind blows from the ocean, and the ocean belongs to nobody. Besides, I didn't come here to start a war with your boss. I came to deliver a message.”

Paulie’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of message?”

Tarasov reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy gold pocket watch on a silver chain, dangling it loosely between two fingers.

“Word on the boardwalk is that Luca DeVito is currently sitting in a third-floor walk-up two blocks away, crying over a woman,” Tarasov said, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation. “A man like that—a man distracted by grief and dying wives—is a dangerous liability to the commission. If he stays in Brighton Beach much longer, some of my younger captains might get ambitious.”

Paulie stared at the pocket watch, then looked Tarasov dead in the eye.

“You touch him, Tarasov,” Paulie said softly, every trace of fear erased from his tone, “and I won't just start a turf war. I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of your operation by sunrise except a smoking hole in the boardwalk.”