A feared mafia boss walked into my restaurant carrying a baby who supposedly rejected everyone, then ordered me to hold him when the child began desperately reaching for me. The second his son fell peacefully against my chest, the man went pale and whispered, “Only his mother could do that.” Then I saw the photograph behind the bar, and the dead woman in it looked almost exactly like me.

Peace, however, is never granted freely in a city ruled by competing families.

While Cassian was dead, his co-conspirators in the Falcone syndicate refused to let their investments die with him. Two weeks after the gala, a formal summons arrived at the estate: the Commission—the governing council of the Five Families—demanded an audience at the historic Chicago Cultural Center.

The Falcone patriarch, Don Carmine, was challenging Leo’s legal inheritance. Claiming that Sofia’s lineage was compromised and that Matteo’s emotional judgment had been warped by an “unverified orphan,” Carmine sought to strip the Moretti family of their docks and territorial jurisdiction.

“They want to provoke me into a war,” Matteo said that morning as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt before the full-length mirror. “If I strike Carmine down without the council’s sanction, the other families will unite against me.”

I walked up behind him, smoothing the lapels of his charcoal suit. “Then we won't give them a war. We’ll give them the law.”

When we walked into the council chamber, the atmosphere was suffocating. Twelve elderly men sat around an oval mahogany table, guarded by armed enforcers standing at attention along the wood-paneled walls. Don Carmine Falcone sat at the far end, his silver cane resting against his knee, a smug, contemptuous smirk playing upon his lips.

“Matteo,” Don Carmine drawled, waving a dismissive hand toward me. “You bring a nanny and a bastard infant to the high council? Have you lost your senses entirely?”

“Choose your next words with extreme care, Carmine,” Matteo replied, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. “The child is my lawful heir. And the woman beside me is not a nanny.”

I stepped forward, placing a thick leather dossier on the center of the table.

“Gentlemen of the Commission,” I said, projecting my voice with steady, unshakeable authority. “Inside this folder are the original church records from Palermo, notarized DNA tests conducted by three independent medical institutions, and the final will and testament of Sofia Morelli, registered in Zurich.”

I turned my gaze directly onto Don Carmine, whose smirk was beginning to wither under my scrutiny.

“Sofia knew what Cassian and Don Carmine were planning,” I continued, laying out the bank records and signed agreements. “Before her death, she transferred her entire personal estate and family voting rights into a blind trust, to be activated only upon the identification of her lawful twin sister. I am that sister. And according to the founding charter of the Chicago Commission written in 1952, no territory may be redistributed while a direct bloodline heir is protected by a living maternal guardian.”

Silence descended upon the council chamber. The senior dons leaned over the documents, verifying the signatures, the wax seals, and the indisputable DNA matches.

“These documents are legitimate,” the oldest councilman, Don Bernardo, declared after a tense five minutes. He looked up, his weathered face breaking into an approving nod. “The boy’s inheritance is absolute. The Moretti territories remain intact.”

Don Carmine stood up, his face purple with fury, his hand slamming down on the table. “This is a farce! I will not be lectured by a girl who spent her life scrubbing tables!”

Matteo moved like lightning.

Before Carmine’s guards could react, Matteo had crossed the room, his hand clamping around Carmine’s throat with the force of a hydraulic press, forcing the older man down onto the mahogany surface.

“You will address my future wife with respect,” Matteo whispered, leaning down until his eyes were an inch from Carmine’s trembling face. “Or I will take your docks, your assets, and your life before this council adjourns. Do you understand me?”

Carmine choked out a desperate nod.

Matteo released him, turning his back on the humiliated boss without another glance. He walked over to me, offering his arm with an open, proud smile.