A 3-year-old just saved a mafia heir's life. Now, she's the only witness.

The main ballroom was converted into a temporary holding area under the watchful eyes of six heavily armed Moretti security guards. Dominic had instructed his team to move Ethan and Lily into the high-security panic room located beneath the library—a reinforced steel bunker equipped with independent air filtration, communication arrays, and bulletproof glass.

Dominic stood in his private study on the third floor of the estate. The room was dark, lit only by the warm glow of the fireplace and the rain beating furiously against the stained-glass windows.

Standing around his mahogany desk were five people—the only five individuals who possessed the security clearances necessary to access the basement vault and knew the precise details of Ethan’s fatal allergy.

First was Marco Moretti, Dominic’s younger brother and the Chief Financial Officer of Moretti Enterprises. Marco was thirty-four, impeccably dressed in a tailored Italian suit, though his tie was currently loosened, his brow glistening with sweat.

Second was Julian Vance, Dominic’s chief legal counsel and personal trustee for twenty years. Vance was sixty, silver-haired, calm, and meticulous. He stood with his arms crossed behind his back, staring into the fire.

Third was Chef Jean-Luc, the French master chef who had run the estate kitchen for six years. He was still wearing his white coat, his hands trembling so badly he had to interlock his fingers to hide it.

Fourth was Vincent, the head of security.

And fifth was Sophia Carter.

Dominic sat in his high-backed leather chair, his fingers laced together beneath his chin. He looked at each of them in total silence for two long minutes. The silence was agonizing. Every crackle of the fireplace sounded like a gunshot in the closed room.

"Five people," Dominic finally said. "Five people knew that Ethan's allergy was not just severe, but that his medical profile listed purified peanut protein as an immediate anaphylactic agent. Five people had the clearance codes to the kitchen vault where his specialized ingredients were stored."

"Dominic, you can't possibly suspect me," Marco burst out, taking a step toward the desk. "He’s my nephew! I brought him his first baseball glove! I love that boy!"

"Sit down, Marco," Dominic commanded quietly.

"I won't sit down!" Marco shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're treating us like criminals in our own house! We should be looking at the outside vendors—the florists, the musicians, the valet staff!"

"The outside vendors don't know the master security override code for the vault, Marco," Vincent stated coldly, not taking his eyes off Marco. "The code was changed at 0800 hours yesterday. Only four people in this room were issued the new sequence on encrypted cards. You, me, Mr. Vance, and Dominic."

"What about the kitchen staff?" Julian Vance interjected smoothly, turning his cool gaze toward Chef Jean-Luc. "Jean-Luc has complete authority over the cold preparation room. He oversees every dish served to the young master."

Chef Jean-Luc fell to his knees, his face red with panic. "Mon Dieu! Mr. Moretti, I swear to you on the souls of my ancestors! I prepared young Ethan's cake with my own hands! I cleaned the bowls three times! I locked the cold room myself at six o'clock!"

"Did you leave the key in the lock, Jean-Luc?" Dominic asked softly.

"No! Never!" Jean-Luc cried, pulling a heavy brass keycard from his coat pocket. "It remains on my person at all times!"

"Then how did a man with a silver box get inside?" Dominic asked.

"The service door has a secondary mechanical latch," Vincent explained, pointing to an architectural diagram of the estate displayed on a monitor. "It’s an emergency fire exit. It can't be opened from the outside without a key, but if someone inside left it unlatched by a fraction of an inch, anyone could slip in from the garden path."

Dominic shifted his gaze to Sophia. She was standing near the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron.

"Sophia," Dominic said.

"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"

"You said you were upstairs checking the guest rooms before dinner."

"Yes, sir. The third-floor suites. Senator Hastings requested an extra iron, and Mrs. Vance needed fresh towels."

"Did you see anyone in the service stairwell?"

Sophia paused, her mind racing back through the events of the evening. "I... I thought I heard footfalls on the fire escape near the east wing. I assumed it was one of Vincent’s patrol officers checking the perimeter."

Vincent shook his head immediately. "My men were stationed exclusively at the main gates and the ballroom perimeter until eight o'clock. None of my team was in the east wing stairwell."

Dominic leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany desk. "Which means an intruder entered the house through the east wing fire escape, used the unlatched service door to access the cold room, poisoned the cake, wiped the local server in the basement, and slipped back out—or back into the ballroom—before Lily spotted him."

"It had to be an insider coordinating with an outside hitman," Julian Vance analyzed, his professional tone cold and clinical. "Dominic, if this gets out to the press, the stock value of Moretti Logistics will plunge thirty percent by morning. The board will demand answers. We need to handle this quietly."

Dominic stood up. The air in the room instantly shifted.

"I do not care about the stock value of my company, Julian," Dominic said, stepping out from behind his desk. "I do not care about the board. Someone tried to murder my eight-year-old son tonight. They used my house, my security, and my family’s private medical secrets to do it."

He walked over to the window, watching the rain pour over his massive estate.

"Vincent."

"Yes, Boss?"

"Bring the lead catered inventory logs from the basement. I want every invoice from the last forty-eight hours cross-referenced with vendor shipping records."

"Right away."

"And Julian?"

"Yes, Dominic?"

"Call our private intelligence contractors in Manhattan. Tell them to run a complete financial audit on every person sitting in that ballroom—and every person standing in this room."

Marco gasped. "Dominic! You're auditing your own brother?"