1 “Touch Her Again,” the Mafia Boss Warned His Fiancée—Then His Next Move Left the Restaurant Frozen

Khloe refused Dominic's hand.

“I'll go home. I'll call the police if somebody follows me.”

Dominic looked at her as though she had suggested stopping a hurricane with an umbrella.

“Which police officer?”

“The police.”

“Senator Kensington has spent fifteen years placing people in positions where they can be useful to him. My uncle paid others to keep him useful. If you call the wrong person, you'll be giving your location to someone who already knows your name.”

“Convenient explanation for a criminal.”

“I'm not asking you to believe I'm a good man.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“To stay alive long enough to decide whether I'm a bad one.”

Khloe hated that the answer sounded honest.

She hated even more that the photograph of her father had made the decision for her.

“I'm not going to your mansion.”

“Fine. Matteo will drive you home.”

“No bodyguards.”

“Then I'll drive you myself.”

“You're not coming to my apartment.”

“Then we'll compromise. Matteo drives. I follow in another car.”

Khloe folded her arms.

“You always negotiate like a man who expects to win?”

“Yes.”

“At least you're self-aware.”

For the first time, Dominic almost laughed.

Twenty minutes later, Khloe sat in the back of a black SUV while Matteo drove through the streets toward Quincy. Dominic followed behind in a second vehicle.

The ride was silent until Matteo glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

“Mr. Costello doesn't usually explain himself.”

“I'm not sure he explained anything.”

“He asked your name before he asked about the incident.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because he recognized it.”

Khloe turned toward the window.

She remembered her father as a quiet man who balanced household accounts at the kitchen table and made pancakes every Sunday. He'd worn inexpensive suits, kept his shoes polished, and taught her to check her change at the grocery store.

He'd never looked like a man who could bring down a criminal empire.

Her apartment building stood between a shuttered laundromat and a convenience store with a flickering sign. The stairwell smelled of damp carpet and old cooking oil.

Matteo waited outside while Khloe unlocked her door.

She switched on the kitchen light.

Everything looked ordinary.

The chipped mug beside the sink. The stack of overdue bills. The framed photograph of her parents on their wedding day.

Then she noticed the kitchen drawer hanging open.

Khloe stopped breathing.

She had left it closed.

The drawer contained her mother's old sewing kit, a few rubber bands, and a collection of photographs. Now everything had been dumped onto the floor.

She backed toward the door.

“Matteo!”

He was beside her in seconds.

His eyes swept the room. He drew his weapon and motioned for her to remain behind him.

They checked the bedroom, bathroom, and closet. Nobody remained inside.

But someone had searched the apartment thoroughly.

The mattress had been cut open. The medicine cabinet was emptied. The framed photograph of her parents lay face down, its glass shattered.

Khloe knelt to pick it up.

Her father smiled from behind the broken glass.

On the back of the frame, someone had carved a single word.

BRICK.

Khloe's stomach tightened.

Her mother's final warning returned with terrible clarity.

If anyone asks about your father, don't tell them what is behind the loose brick.

She had assumed it was a frightened woman's rambling. After the funeral, she'd searched their old house in Dorchester, but she'd never found anything.

The house had been sold years ago.

“There's something I need to see,” she whispered.

Dominic entered the apartment moments later.

He took in the damage without speaking.

“Was anything valuable taken?”

“I don't know.”

“Think carefully.”

“My mother's jewelry is still there. My laptop is still there. They didn't want money.”

“They wanted something specific.”

Khloe looked at him.

“The old house.”

Dominic's eyes sharpened.

“What about it?”

“My father owned a house in Dorchester. My mother said something about a loose brick before she died.”

“Why didn't you tell me that at the restaurant?”

“Because you were surrounded by men with guns, and I had just poured butter sauce over your fiancée.”

“Former fiancée, possibly.”

“Congratulations on your timing.”

He almost smiled again.

They drove to Dorchester just before midnight.

The house was smaller than Khloe remembered, its white paint peeling and its front steps cracked. A developer had purchased the property after her mother's death but apparently never completed the renovation. The windows were boarded, and weeds had swallowed the walkway.

Dominic brought two men to secure the perimeter. Khloe insisted on entering first.

The old kitchen was nearly empty.

She remembered standing there as a child, watching her father prepare Sunday breakfast while her mother hummed along to the radio.

The memory hurt more than she expected.

“Where would he have hidden something?” Dominic asked.

“He wouldn't have hidden anything dangerous in a place a child could find.”

“Maybe he underestimated children.”

Khloe crouched beside the old fireplace.

One brick near the bottom sat slightly crooked. She pressed it, then pulled.

It came free.

Behind it was a narrow cavity containing a small brass key, a folded photograph, and a sealed envelope.

Khloe reached for the envelope.

Dominic caught her wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough to stop her.

“Wait.”

“Why?”

“Because whoever searched your apartment may be watching this house.”

He handed her a pair of gloves from his pocket.

“Open it carefully.”

Inside was a single sheet of paper written in her father's handwriting.

Khloe, if you're reading this, then the people I feared have finally found you.

Do not trust Senator Kensington.

Do not trust Lorenzo Bianke.

And whatever Dominic Costello tells you, remember that his uncle knew the truth before I died.

Khloe read the last sentence twice.

Then she looked up.

Dominic's face had become unreadable.

“You knew?” she whispered.

“I knew my uncle had something to do with your father's death.”

The words landed like a blow.

“You brought me here knowing that?”

“I brought you here because I needed to know whether your father left evidence.”

“You used me.”

“Yes.”

She slapped him.

The sound echoed through the empty house.

Dominic didn't move.

Khloe's eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained steady.

“You don't get to turn my father's murder into another business negotiation.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't. You have money, men, weapons, and enough power to make people disappear. I have debt collectors calling me before breakfast and a mother I couldn't save. You don't know what it's like to lose everything and still have to clock in the next morning.”

Dominic looked at her for a long moment.

Then he lowered his eyes.

“You're right.”

It was the last answer she expected.

Before she could respond, Matteo called from outside.

“Boss! We have company!”

A car had stopped at the end of the street.

A man stepped out, raised a phone, and photographed the house.

Dominic pulled Khloe behind the wall.

“Stay here.”