The Mafia Boss Installed Cameras for His Disabled Twin, but the Plus-Size Housekeeper Did What He Had Feared for Seven Years

Victor Vale looked as if he had been struck by lightning. His mouth opened slightly, his fleshy face flushing a dark, blotchy red as he stared at his nephew.

"Julian..." Victor stammered, taking an involuntary step backward. "You... you're..."

"Functional?" Julian supplied smoothly, resting his hands on the armrests of his wheelchair. "Cognitive? Able to identify my family members and their various financial betrayals?"

Ms. Vance, the court social worker, stepped forward immediately, pulling a pair of reading glasses from her jacket and staring at Julian with deep professional interest.

"Mr. Julian Vale?" she asked, her voice sharp and precise. "I am Ms. Vance, appointed by the Cook County Probate Court. Your uncle’s petition claims you are nonverbal, severely depressed, and suffering from profound cognitive regression that renders you incapable of making legal or financial decisions."

Julian gave a dry, quiet laugh that echoed off the high ceiling.

"My uncle’s petition is based on the reports of informants he placed in my housekeeping staff three years ago," Julian said calmly. "Reports that are as outdated as his business model."

Dr. Thorne picked up his briefcase, stepping closer to Julian with a cautious, clinical look. "Mr. Vale, if you don't mind, I would like to ask you a few standard neurological and orientation questions—"

"Ask them," Julian interrupted coldly. "Ask me about the Q3 logistics reports for Vale Maritime, which I signed on Tuesday. Ask me about the four million dollar discrepancy in the Seventy-Ninth Street property trust that my uncle attempt to funnel into an offshore account in Grand Cayman last month. Or ask me about the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, which I was discussing with my housekeeper two hours ago."

Dr. Thorne blinked, glancing nervously at Victor, whose jaw was twitching with suppressed rage.

"He's reading from a script!" Victor suddenly barked, pointing a thick, ringed finger at Dominic. "Dominic staged this! He drilled him! He coached him to say these things so he could retain control of Julian’s voting shares!"

"I don't need to be coached by my brother, Victor," Julian said, his voice dropping into a register so dark and cold it sent a chill through the foyer. "I built the corporate encryption system for the Vale trust when I was twenty-two years old. I still hold the primary administrative master keys. Would you like me to recite the security access codes for your personal safe in the Mercer Building, or shall I let Ms. Vance write them down for the state prosecutor?"

Victor’s bodyguards shifted uncomfortably near the front door, exchanging wide-eyed glances.

Ms. Vance turned to Dr. Thorne. "Doctor, is it your preliminary medical opinion that this man is suffering from cognitive incapacitation?"

Dr. Thorne swallowed hard, adjusting his tweed collar. "Ab... absolutely not, Ms. Vance. Mr. Vale demonstrates total cognitive clarity, high-level executive functioning, and complete environmental orientation. There is zero medical basis for a conservatorship."

Ms. Vance pulled a red stamp from her briefcase, opened Victor’s legal petition against the marble hall table, and slammed the stamp onto the front page with a loud, final THWACK.

PETITION DISMISSED WITH PREJUDICE.

"Mr. Victor Vale," Ms. Vance said, snapping her briefcase shut. "I will be filing a formal report with Judge Callahan detailing fraudulent representation in this petition. I suggest you retain a good legal defense team before Monday morning."

Victor stood frozen in the center of the foyer, his face turning from red to a terrifying, mottled purple. He looked at Julian, then at Dominic, and finally his wild, enraged eyes landed on Grace, who was standing quietly beside Julian’s chair.

"You..." Victor spat, stepping toward Grace with his silver walking stick raised. "You were the new housekeeper in the east wing! You were supposed to be a quiet temp worker! What did you do?"

Before Victor’s boot could take a second step, Dominic Vale moved with blinding speed.

He crossed the floor, grabbed Victor by the lapels of his mink coat, and slammed the older man back against the heavy mahogany front door with a force that shook the iron hinges.

"Touch her, or take one step toward anyone in this house again," Dominic growled, his face two inches from Victor’s terrified eyes, his voice a low, terrifying rumble, "and I won't use the courts, Victor. I’ll use the docks."

The two bodyguards near the entrance didn't draw their weapons. They knew Dominic Vale's reputation, and they knew that eighteen armed guards were currently standing in the corridors outside the foyer.

Dominic pulled open the heavy front door, letting the icy winter wind and blowing snow roar into the grand entryway.

He threw Victor out onto the stone porch, where the older man stumbled and fell hard into a snowbank, his silver walking stick clattering down the frozen steps.

"Get off my land," Dominic ordered coldly.

Dr. Thorne and Ms. Vance quickly walked out the door behind him, leaving Victor struggling to his feet in the deep snow as Frankie closed and deadbolted the iron doors with a heavy, final thud.

The grand foyer fell completely silent.

The wind howled outside, but inside, the warm golden light of the crystal chandelier reflected off the polished marble floors.

Julian turned his wheelchair around, looking at his brother, then at Grace.

"Well," Julian said softly, his raspy voice filling the silence. "That was remarkably satisfying."

Dominic leaned his back against the closed front door, letting out a long, heavy breath that had been trapped in his lungs for seven long years. He looked at Julian, then turned his gaze onto Grace.

"Miss Miller," Dominic said, a rare, genuine warmth softening his hard features. "I believe your shift ended twenty minutes ago."