The Mafia Boss Who Tried to Steal Her Block Discovered the Ring on Her Finger—Only to Realize the Real Monster Was Already Inside Her House

The rain had turned to hard, freezing sleet by the time Dominic’s black town car pulled up behind Hayes Restoration.

Inside the shop, the warm, amber glow of a single brass desk lamp cut through the dusty windows. Through the glass, Nora could see Arthur sitting in his old rocking chair by the stove, his head bowed as he worked meticulously on the leg of an 18th-century cherrywood side table. Upstairs, light spilled from the kitchen window where Grant was presumably pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

“He’s still up,” Nora whispered, her hand hovering over the door handle.

“Let him pace,” Dominic said from the driver’s side, though Aaron Pike was actually at the wheel. Dominic sat beside her in the back, his broad shoulders filling the dim interior of the car. He reached into his coat and pulled out a burner phone, tapping three numbers before holding it to his ear. “Move the team in. Ten minutes. Clear the second-floor entrance through the alley. I don’t want Arthur startled.”

“Understood, Mr. Russo,” a crisp voice replied through the speaker.

Nora turned to look at Dominic, the pale glow of the dashboard illuminating the sharp planes of his face. “You’ve had this planned since yesterday.”

“I’ve had contingencies in place since I saw the ring,” Dominic corrected. “I don’t leave loose ends, Nora. Especially not when they’re standing under the same roof as you.”

“And Arthur?”

“My medical team is already inside the back entrance. They’ve packed his medications, his favorite blankets, and the tools he keeps in his apron pocket. By the time Harrison looks down from the kitchen, your grandfather will be halfway to Brookline in a climate-controlled van with two private nurses.”

Nora swallowed hard. “He’s going to be confused. He hates leaving the shop.”

“He hates the noise of the construction more,” Dominic said quietly. “And he trusts you. If you tell him it’s time for a holiday, he’ll go.”

Ten minutes later, the back alley door of Hayes Restoration creaked open. Two men in dark coats emerged, wheeling an old-fashioned wingback chair fitted with rubber casters. Sitting comfortably in it, wrapped in a heavy wool plaid blanket with his carving knife and a block of beeswax in his lap, was Arthur Hayes.

He looked up as Dominic and Nora stepped out of the shadow of the brick wall.

“Nora girl,” the old man muttered, his voice raspy with age and wood dust. “Is this young fella taking us out for pie? My legs feel like lead.”

Nora rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside the chair and taking his liver-spotted hand in hers. “We’re going on a little trip, Grandpa. Just for a few days. The shop’s getting too noisy with the new buildings.”

Arthur squinted through his thick glasses at Dominic, who stood silently a few paces back, his hands buried in his pockets. The old man’s cloudy blue eyes narrowed in recognition.

“I know you,” Arthur rasped, pointing a shaky finger at Dominic. “You’re the one who left the basket of bitter oranges on our doorstep three winters ago.”

Dominic gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. “Good evening, Mr. Hayes.”

“You’ve got a heavy hand,” Arthur grumbled, though there was no real anger in it. “And you don't smile enough. But you know how to keep your mouth shut.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take care of my girl,” Arthur muttered, leaning back against the cushions as the nurses gently guided the chair toward the waiting van. “She’s too stubborn for her own good. Takes after her mother.”

Nora watched the van doors close, her throat tight with unshed tears. When she turned back around, Grant was standing at the top of the metal fire escape in the alley, his silhouette sharp against the sleet-slicked bricks above.

“Nora?” Grant shouted, his voice cutting through the hiss of the wind. “What the hell is going on? Who are those men?”

Dominic stepped between Nora and the ladder, his face tilted up toward the man on the fire escape.

“Go inside, Grant,” Dominic called out, his voice echoing off the brick walls with terrifying clarity. “Your partners in the Cayman Islands are trying to reach you on your emergency line. I suggest you answer it.”