THE DON'S FORGOTTEN HEIR

The First Name

The list had twelve names.

Twelve people who had sold their souls to Enzo Rosetti. Twelve people who had helped him build his empire on the bones of Dante's family.

Dante sat in the safe house, the list spread out before him. The morning light filtered through the boarded windows, casting thin stripes across the paper. He'd been staring at the names for hours, memorizing each one.

Judge Harold Morrison was the first.

"Corrupt judge," Nyla said, sitting across from him. "He's been on Enzo's payroll for fifteen years. He's dismissed cases, buried evidence, and sent innocent men to prison to protect Enzo's people."

"What's his weakness?"

"His reputation. He's respected. Powerful. If we expose him, it will send a message to everyone else on that list."

Dante nodded. "Where is he now?"

"Tonight, he's hosting a gala at his mansion in Uptown. A charity event. Half the city's elite will be there." Nyla slid a photograph across the table. "This is his daughter. Amara Morrison. She's twenty-three. She doesn't know about her father's crimes."

Dante studied the photograph. A young woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She looked innocent. Unaware.

"We're not going to hurt her," he said.

"No. But we can use her."

Dante looked up. "Use her how?"

"Judge Morrison loves his daughter more than anything. If we threaten to expose him, he'll do whatever we want."

"I'm not threatening an innocent woman."

Nyla's eyes were cold. "I'm not suggesting we hurt her. I'm suggesting we make him think we will."

Dante was silent. He thought about his mother—an innocent woman who had died because of men like Judge Morrison. He thought about the choices he was making, the lines he was crossing.

His father's words echoed in his mind. Don't become like Enzo.

But what choice did he have?

"Fine," he said. "We'll make him think we will. But she doesn't get hurt. That's non-negotiable."

Nyla nodded. "Agreed."

---

The gala was everything Dante expected—glittering chandeliers, champagne glasses, women in designer dresses and men in tuxedos. The mansion was a monument to corruption, every marble column and gold fixture paid for with blood money.

Dante stood in the shadows of the garden, watching through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He wore a waiter's uniform—black vest, white shirt, bow tie. Nyla had arranged it. She was inside already, posing as a guest, gathering information.

Troy was in the van outside, monitoring the security feeds.

"Remember," Troy said through the earpiece, "you're just a waiter. Serve drinks. Don't make eye contact. Don't draw attention."

"I know."

"Judge Morrison is in the study. Second floor, east wing. He meets with his contacts there during events. That's where you'll find the evidence."

Dante nodded. He picked up a tray of champagne glasses and walked toward the mansion.

The party was loud—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. The wealthy elite of the city mingled and smiled, unaware of the darkness beneath their feet.

Dante moved through the crowd, his eyes scanning for threats. He saw bodyguards—at least a dozen—stationed around the mansion. Enzo's men. They were watching.

He kept his head down.

The stairs to the second floor were guarded by a single man. Dante approached, holding the tray.

"Champagne?" he asked.

The guard shook his head. "No one goes up."

"I'm supposed to deliver drinks to Judge Morrison."

The guard looked at him for a long moment. Then he stepped aside.

"Make it quick."

Dante climbed the stairs. The second floor was quieter—the music muffled by thick carpets and heavy doors. He walked down the hallway, counting the doors until he found the east wing.

The study door was slightly open. Dante pushed it wider.

Judge Morrison was inside, alone. He was an older man—sixty, silver-haired, with a face that looked kind but wasn't. He was on the phone, his voice low and urgent.

"I don't care what it costs," Morrison said. "Make sure the evidence disappears. If anyone talks, they disappear too."

Dante stepped inside.

Morrison turned. His eyes widened.

"Who are you? You're not supposed to—"

"I'm the man whose life you destroyed."

Morrison's face went pale. "You... you're supposed to be dead."

"I'm supposed to be a lot of things." Dante closed the door behind him. "But I'm not. And I have something you're going to want to see."

He pulled the list from his jacket. Morrison's name was at the top. He held it up.

"This is my father's list. Every name on it is someone who helped Enzo Rosetti destroy my family. Your name is at the top."

Morrison stared at the list. His hands were trembling.

"Where did you get that?"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is what happens next." Dante stepped closer. "You're going to resign from the bench. You're going to confess to every crime you committed for Enzo. You're going to name names. And you're going to testify in open court."

Morrison laughed—a nervous, hysterical sound. "You're insane. I'm a judge. I have power. I have protection."

"You have nothing." Dante's voice was cold. "I have your list. I have your evidence. I have your daughter's name."

Morrison froze. "Don't you dare touch her."

"I won't. As long as you do exactly what I say."

Morrison was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice broken.

"What do you want me to do?"

---

Dante left the study ten minutes later, the evidence in his pocket. Morrison had agreed to everything—resignation, confession, testimony. He would go to the police in the morning.

But Dante didn't trust him.

He was halfway down the stairs when the shooting started.

Gunfire erupted from the front of the mansion. Dante dove behind a marble column as screams filled the air. The guests scattered, running for the exits.

Enzo's men were everywhere.

Corso. The thick-necked enforcer. The man who had killed Moretti.

He was leading them.

"Find the heir!" Corso shouted. "Kill everyone else!"

Dante pulled his gun. He had six bullets. There were at least a dozen men.

He needed a way out.

"The study," Nyla said through the earpiece. "There's a window. Fire escape. Go."

Dante ran back up the stairs. The study door was open. Judge Morrison was inside, cowering behind his desk.

"Get down!" Dante shouted.

He ran to the window and threw it open. The fire escape was rusted but stable. He climbed out just as Corso burst through the door.

"Rosetti!" Corso bellowed. "I'll find you! I'll kill you! Just like I killed that old man Moretti!"

Dante didn't look back. He climbed down the fire escape, his heart pounding in his chest.

---

He met Nyla and Troy at the van.

"Did you get it?" Nyla asked.

Dante held up the evidence. "I got it. Morrison is going to confess."

"Good." Nyla looked at the burning mansion. "But we have a problem."

"What?"

"Morrison's daughter. Amara. She was in the mansion when the shooting started. She's missing."

Dante's blood ran cold. "Missing?"

"Corso took her. We saw him drag her into a car."

Dante closed his eyes. The innocent woman. The daughter. The one he'd promised not to hurt.

Enzo had her.

"We have to get her back," he said.

"It's a trap," Troy said. "Enzo knows you'll come for her."

"I don't care. I'm not going to let an innocent woman die because of me."

Nyla touched his arm. "Think about this. Amara is Corso's leverage. He wants you to come. He wants to kill you."

"Then I'll go. But I'm not going alone."

He looked at Troy and Nyla. His allies. His only hope.

"Are you with me?"

Troy grinned, blood on his teeth. "I've been with you since the beginning."

Nyla nodded. "Always."

Dante looked at the city. The fire. The chaos. The war he had started.

Then he looked at the evidence in his hand. The proof of Judge Morrison's crimes. The first victory in a long, bloody campaign.

He tucked it into his jacket.

"Let's go get Amara," he said. "And then we'll burn Enzo's whole world to the ground."