Chapter 1: The Butcher and the BleachThe man mopping the grand marble staircase of the Romano estate was not a janitor.To the world, Alessandro De Luca was a shadow, a myth whispered in the dark corners of Sicily and the high-rise boardrooms of Manhattan. He was a man who moved millions with a phone call and ended bloodlines with a nod. But for the last fourteen days, his world had shrunk to the size of a plastic yellow bucket and the rhythmic, soul-crushing sound of a mop hitting tile.He dipped the mop into the grey, soapy water, his muscles bunching beneath the cheap, scratchy fabric of a janitor’s jumpsuit. It was an itch he couldn't scratch—the indignity of the disguise. He was used to the feel of Egyptian cotton and the cold weight of a Beretta tucked into a bespoke holster. Now, he smelled of industrial pine cleaner and lemon bleach.His mission had been simple, or so his Consigliere had promised: infiltrate the Romano household, evaluate the daughter he was supposed to marry to end a twenty-year war, and ensure the girl wasn't a liability. It was a political chess move. A marriage of convenience to stop the bodies from piling up in the streets of New Jersey.The problem was that Alessandro had spent the last two weeks watching the wrong woman.Three steps below him, a girl was on her knees. She wasn't Sofia Romano, the pampered princess of the house who spent her mornings screaming at dressmakers. This was the help.She worked with a frantic, desperate energy, her small hands scrubbing at a stain that had likely been there since the house was built. Her uniform was a shapeless grey sack, three sizes too large, and her dark hair was shoved haphazardly under a plain scarf. But every time she moved, a faint scent drifted up to him—not of bleach, but of something soft. Vanilla and rain.Alessandro watched a bead of sweat roll down the back of her neck. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her hands were a violent shade of red from the chemicals."Careful," Alessandro muttered.The word slipped out before he could catch it. Worse, it was in his native tongue—the deep, melodic Italian of a man born to rule, not to clean.The girl froze. The sound of her brush scraping against the marble stopped instantly. For a long moment, the only sound in the massive foyer was the ticking of the grandfather clock and the distant murmur of a television in another room.Slowly, painfully, she tilted her head back.Alessandro had stared down federal agents and rival bosses without blinking, but the look in this girl's eyes made his chest tighten. They were a deep, stormy brown, framed by lashes that were too long for her tired face. She looked like a creature that had been trapped in the dark for a long time and had finally seen a sliver of light."You speak Italian?" she whispered. Her voice was a fragile thing, like glass that had already been cracked and was waiting for the final blow.Rule Number One: Never break cover. He should have grunted a lie. He should have pretended he didn't understand. But as her gaze dropped from his face to his hand, Alessandro realized the game was over. In his haste to get into the house that morning, he had forgotten to remove the De Luca signet ring. The heavy, blackened gold wolf—the symbol of his family's ferocity—glinted mockingly under the crystal chandeliers.Her eyes went wide. She knew that mark. Anyone with an ounce of Italian blood knew the wolf. Her breath hitched, and she scrambled back a step, nearly knocking over her own bucket."You're—"The heavy clack-clack-clack of designer heels cut her off."You! Girl!"Chiara Romano, the matriarch of the house, appeared at the top of the landing. She looked like a woman carved out of ice, draped in silk that cost more than a janitor made in three years. She didn't look at them as people; she looked at them as obstacles in her hallway.Alessandro reflexively hunched his shoulders, dropping his gaze. A lion playing the part of a mouse."Why is this step still wet?" Chiara shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "The guests will be here in an hour! Mr. Vance is arriving for the final contract signing! Do you want him to slip and break his neck? Do you have any idea what that would do to our reputation?"Eliana—he’d seen the name on her tiny brass pin—scrambled to her feet. She was shaking so hard she had to lean against the banister. "Signora, I’m sorry. The stain was deep, I was just trying to—"Smack.The sound of the slap was violent and sudden. Chiara’s palm connected with Eliana’s cheek with enough force to snap the girl's head to the side.Alessandro’s world went red. The mop handle groaned in his grip, the wood beginning to splinter under the sheer pressure of his hand. Every lethal instinct he possessed—the "Butcher of Sicily" persona he had spent a decade refining—roared to life. He wanted to reach out, grab Chiara by her throat, and show her exactly what "incompetence" felt like.Rule No.2 the violence mus