The pediatrician took one look at my seven-day-old son, glanced at my unconscious wife, and suddenly barked, “Call the police—right now!” Only hours earlier, my wife's family had sworn they were taking perfect care of them while I was away. That single command exposed a nightmare I never imagined—and the people my wife trusted most became the prime suspects.

The silence in the interrogation room was so heavy you could hear the blood dripping from Harrison's broken nose onto the steel table.

Beatrice was hyperventilating, her hands clamped over her mouth as she stared at the gun resting on the table. Marcus was weeping silently on the floor, clinging to his mother’s skirt like a terrified child.

"Vincent... please..." Beatrice sobbed, her voice trembling violently. "We’re family! We're Emily's blood! We didn't mean to hurt the baby! We were just... we were desperate! Richard’s debts were going to ruin us!"

I didn't even look at her. "Family does not drug a mother. Family does not starve an infant child until his heart nearly stops beating. You are not family, Beatrice. You are cancer."

"Vincent, listen to me!" Richard pleaded, dropping to his knees beside his wife, his hands clasped together in desperate prayer. "It was Frank Rossi! The loan shark! He forced my hand! He said if I didn't give him the two million dollars from Emily's trust fund by tonight, he would kill Marcus! I was only trying to save my son!"

"By killing mine?" I asked softly.

Before Richard could answer, the steel door opened again.

Marco stepped into the room, dragging a broad, muscular man in his late forties wearing a leather jacket and heavy gold chains. His face was bruised, his lip split, and his hands were zip-tied tightly behind his back.

It was Frank "The Hammer" Rossi—the most notorious loan shark in the West Side.

Marco shoved Rossi down onto the metal floor right beside Richard Vance.

Rossi spit a mouthful of blood onto the tile, glaring up at me with wild, furious eyes. "Moretti! What the hell is the meaning of this?! Your boys snatched me out of my own club! I don't operate on your turf! I pay my kickbacks to your Underboss every month!"

"You operate in my city, Rossi," I said coldly, reaching down to pick up my Kimber 1911. "And you gave a four-hundred-thousand-dollar loan to this pathetic worm."

I pointed the barrel of the gun directly at Richard Vance’s forehead.

Richard shrieked, dropping his head to the floor. "DON'T SHOOT! PLEASE! DON'T SHOOT!"

"Rossi," I continued, keeping my eyes fixed on Richard. "Did you tell Richard Vance to drug my wife and starve my seven-day-old son?"

Rossi’s eyes widened in genuine, utter confusion. "What?! What the hell are you talking about?! I told this scumbag that if he didn't pay me his overdue four hundred grand by tonight, I’d take his house and his cars! I don't give a damn about his niece or his grand-nephew! I didn't tell him to poison anybody!"

I lowered the gun slightly, looking down at Richard. "So... the poison was your own creative idea, wasn't it, Uncle Richard?"

"No! No! I didn't want to kill her!" Richard wept, his forehead pressed against my leather shoes. "I just... I just wanted her to stay asleep so she wouldn't call the bank to check on the trust fund transfers! I was going to use a forged power of attorney to move the money out of her account while she was incapacitated! I didn't know the baby was starving! I thought Beatrice was feeding him!"

"You lying bastard!" Beatrice screamed, suddenly kicking her husband in the ribs. "You told me the baby was already fed! You told me Emily was taking medicine prescribed by her doctor! You used us!"

"ENOUGH!" I roared.

The single word cut through the room like a thunderclap. Every single person in the room froze, terrified to even breathe.

"Dominic," I ordered.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Take Frank Rossi out to his car," I said. "Since Rossi didn't know about the poisoning, I will grant him his life. However, his loan to Richard Vance is officially void. Furthermore, Rossi will hand over fifty percent of his West Side gambling operations to the Moretti Syndicate by midnight tonight as compensation for bringing this garbage into my life."

Rossi let out a massive sigh of relief, nodding frantically. "Yes! Yes, Mr. Moretti! Absolutely! Fifty percent is yours! Thank you, sir! Thank you!"

Marco dragged Rossi out of the room.

Now, only Richard, Beatrice, Marcus, and their bleeding lawyer remained in the dark room with my men.

I stood up from the chair, sliding my firearm back into my leather shoulder holster.

"What... what are you going to do to us?" Richard asked, his voice barely a squeak.

"If I kill you here, Richard," I said smoothly, adjusting my tie, "it would be too clean. It would be an act of mercy. And you do not deserve mercy."

I looked down at the three of them with absolute disgust.

"You like money so much that you were willing to sacrifice my son for a trust fund," I said. "So here is what is going to happen. As of 5:00 PM today, every house, every car, every bank account, and every piece of property owned by the Vance family is being seized by my corporate holding companies to settle the 'debts' you owe to my estate. You will be left with nothing. Not a single cent. Not a single coat."

Richard’s face went entirely dead and white. "You... you're taking our homes?"

"And then," I continued, leaning in close to Richard's ear, "I am handing all the forensic medical evidence, the poisoned milk bottles, the chloral hydrate vials, and the recorded confessions from this room directly to the Federal District Attorney. You, your wife, and your son will be charged with conspiracy to commit attempted murder, child endangerment, and poison distribution."

"No... no... the federal prison..." Beatrice wept, collapsing onto the floor.

"In federal prison," I whispered coldly, "my associates control the guard shifts and the cell blocks. You will serve thirty years in maximum security, Richard. And every single day of those thirty years, you will remember the chauffeur you thought you could crush."