The most powerful Mafia boss in New York was about to be blown apart by the woman he planned to marry—but my six-year-old daughter exposed her secret.

Viktoria stepped into the west parlor like she owned the building, her crimson silk gown rustling softly against the floorboards. Her platinum-blonde hair was swept back into an immaculate chignon, and a diamond choker glittered coldly against her throat. She looked like a high-fashion model gracing the cover of Vogue, completely detached from the brutal realities of the world she operated in.

Her eyes swept the room, landing instantly on Sophia. A thin, amused smile touched the corners of her painted lips.

"Sophia, isn't it?" Viktoria asked, her voice smooth, musical, and entirely devoid of warmth. "Such a clumsy girl. First you bring a child into a secure syndicate headquarters where she clearly doesn't belong, and now you're hiding in the dark like a frightened mouse."

Sophia stepped protectively in front of the sofa, keeping her body planted between Viktoria and Emma. Her voice shook slightly, but she forced every ounce of courage she had left to the surface. "Leave us alone. Mr. Moretti told us to stay here."

Viktoria laughed softly—a light, tinkling sound that sent chills down Sophia's spine. "Damiano is currently occupied with far more important matters. By now, he’s walking into his study, admiring the craftsmanship of his desk, perhaps sitting down to review the final draft of the peace treaty."

Viktoria checked her diamond-encrusted wristwatch, her smile sharpening into something predatory. "And in approximately twelve minutes, that desk—and everyone within a thirty-foot radius—will cease to exist."

Sophia felt the room tilt. "You... you planted it. You're trying to kill him."

"I'm reclaiming what belongs to the Bratva," Viktoria corrected smoothly, stepping closer with slow, deliberate grace. "Damiano thought he could use me as a decorative ornament to bridge our territories while he kept all the real power for himself. He thought he was the apex predator. But men like that are blinded by their own arrogance. They never suspect the hand that feeds them."

Viktoria’s gaze flicked past Sophia toward the sofa. A flicker of annoyance crossed her features when she noticed the edge of a small pink shoe peeking out from behind the velvet cushion.

"Ah, and the little rat," Viktoria murmured, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. "She just couldn't mind her own business, could she? Children have a terrible habit of wandering into places they shouldn't."

Viktoria reached into the sleek leather clutch resting against her hip. A low, metallic click echoed in the quiet room.

Sophia’s instincts exploded. Without thinking, she lunged forward, throwing herself directly at Viktoria just as the silver barrel of a suppressed pistol cleared the handbag.

They crashed hard against a mahogany side table, sending a crystal lamp shattering across the floor. Viktoria hissed in fury, her manicured nails clawing at Sophia’s face, but Sophia held on with the desperate, feral strength of a mother protecting her child.