1."Mafia Boss Sat In A Broken Wheelchair Begging On Main Street — Then A Poor Baker's Daughter Knelt Down And Asked His Name

Back in Boston, the glass tower overlooking the harbor was shrouded in a heavy gray drizzle.

Inside the sprawling penthouse apartment on the fortieth floor, the atmosphere was suffocating.

Gino Castellano stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of thirty-year-old Scotch held tightly in his right hand. He was sixty-two years old, with sharp silver hair, immaculate tailoring, and eyes that had ordered the deaths of over twenty men throughout his violent career.

Standing opposite him was Sierra Voss. She was wearing an expensive black silk dress, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, her diamond ring sparkling in the dim light of the study.

"He just left?" Gino demanded, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that made the penthouse air feel heavy. "No luggage? No car? No guards?"

"I told you, Don Gino," Sierra said, her tone laced with frustration and lingering bitterness. "He sat right where you're standing. He asked me some ridiculous question about why I liked him. When I answered, he handed me a diamond necklace and told me to get out. He was like a ghost."

Gino took a slow sip of his Scotch, his heavy brow furrowing deep into thought. "And he mentioned a letter? A letter from Ray Kesler?"

"Yes!" Sierra snapped. "He said he was leaving because of a letter Ray left behind."

Gino’s grip on his crystal glass tightened so hard the thick glass groaned under the pressure.

Ray Kesler.

Thirty years ago, Ray had been more than just a driver. He had been the family's primary fixer—the man who knew where every body was buried, where every illegal payoff was recorded, and where the Castellano family's true fortune had come from. When Ray suddenly disappeared from field operations thirty years ago and volunteered to be young Rocco’s silent driver, Gino had assumed the secret had died with time.

If Rocco discovered what Ray had done in West Virginia thirty years ago... if Rocco discovered the truth about his father’s death... the entire Castellano empire would burn to the ground.

The grand double doors of the penthouse study clicked open, and a man stepped inside.

He was thirty-two, built like a lightweight boxer, with slicked-back dark hair and a permanent, arrogant smirk. His name was Marco Castellano—Gino’s biological son and Rocco’s hot-headed cousin.

"Dad," Marco said, tossing a thick manila envelope onto the mahogany desk. "My guys tracked the cell tower pings from Ray Kesler’s lawyer before he died. The letter originated from a small township in the Appalachian mountains. A place called Cedar Hollow."

Gino turned away from the window, his expression instantly transforming into a mask of cold, absolute murder.

"Cedar Hollow," Gino repeated softly.

"What do you want me to do?" Marco asked, pulling a silver-plated snub-nosed revolver from his shoulder holster and spinning the cylinder playfully. "Rocco went off his rocker. He abandoned the family, abandoned the docks. The Moretti family is already trying to move in on Pier 4. We need to bring Rocco back—or eliminate him before he hands our empire over to the feds."

Gino walked slowly over to his desk. He set his Scotch down, picked up a pen, and wrote a single address on a notepad.

"Take eight of our best hitmen," Gino ordered coldly. "Drive to West Virginia. Find Rocco. Do not bring him back. If he knows what was in that letter... end him. Make it look like a robbery in the mountains. A tragic end for a crazy heir."