88The Poor Maid’s Baby Crawled Into the Mafia Boss’s Office, and His Next Decision Put a Target on All Three of Them

By four o'clock the following morning, the news of the catastrophe at Gabriel Marlowe’s penthouse had swept through the highest corridors of New York’s criminal underworld like a tidal wave.

Dominic Moretti sat alone in his private estate in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, staring at his satellite phone.

He knew his empire was over. Julian was captured, his top tactical team was wiped out, and Gabriel Marlowe had personally issued a death sentence that no commission in the country could overturn.

His chief lieutenant stepped into the room, his face pale. "Dominic... three armored Suburbans just pulled up to the main gate. It’s Lucian Cross."

Dominic didn't draw his gun. He slowly set his cigar down in an glass ashtray, letting out a long, bitter breath. "Did he bring a contract?"

"He brought a document," the lieutenant said, handing over a thick folder. "Sign over all Moretti shipping assets, all pier contracts, and all property deeds to Marlowe Enterprises by sunrise... or they blow the gates."

Dominic looked at the papers. It was total, absolute surrender. Every dollar he had built over thirty years, wiped away with a single signature.

He signed his name on the line.

Ten minutes later, Lucian Cross walked back to the lead Suburban parked outside the estate gates, carrying the signed deeds in a leather briefcase. He picked up his phone and dialed Gabriel’s private line.

"It’s done, Gabriel," Lucian reported. "Dominic signed everything over. He’s taking a private flight to Miami at six AM. He’ll never set foot in New York again."

"And Julian?" Gabriel asked over the secure line.

"He’s on a cargo boat heading for South America," Lucian replied smoothly. "He won't be returning either."

Gabriel stood in his private study on the fourteenth floor, looking out at the sun rising over the East River, casting a brilliant golden light across the high-rise glass of Manhattan.

"Good work, Lucian," Gabriel said. "Have the legal team transfer ten percent of the Moretti shipping assets into a private, irrevocable trust fund under the name of Chloe Price."

Lucian paused on the other end of the line, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "Ten percent? That’s nearly fifteen million dollars, Gabriel."

"She chewed on my Montblanc pen, Lucian," Gabriel said dryly. "She deserves a fee."

Lucian laughed softly. "Consider it done, boss. What about the penthouse? The living room needs two weeks of construction to fix the glass and pillars."

"Move us to the Hamptons estate for the month," Gabriel ordered. "Hannah and Chloe need fresh air. And recruit twelve more guards for the perimeter."

"On it," Lucian said, ending the call.

Gabriel set his phone on the desk and walked softly toward the doorway leading to the guest suite.

He looked inside.

Hannah was lying on the massive king-sized bed, fast asleep in the morning light. Chloe was lying beside her, her tiny head resting against Hannah’s arm, her small thumb tucked safely into her mouth.

Gabriel walked into the room without making a sound. He stood beside the bed, looking down at the two people who had completely upended his dark, dangerous world in less than twenty-four hours.

He felt no regret. He felt no hesitation.

He bent down gently, pulling the soft duvet higher over Hannah’s shoulders, his fingers lingering against her warm skin for a second.

Hannah stirred softly, her eyes opening halfway. She saw Gabriel standing over her in the soft golden sunlight, his face relaxed, calm, and devoted.