for three years, a grieving mafia boss walks through his mansion every night until dawn, unable to sleep and refusing to enter one locked room from his past. then at three in the morning, his maid’s fearless little daughter follows the sound of his footsteps, loses her one-eared stuffed rabbit, and wanders straight into that forbidden room. instead of running from him, she looks up and says, “you walk all night because you’re sad.” what she does next finally makes the exhausted mafia boss stop walking.

The moonlight shone brightly through the glass patio doors of the east wing parlor. Mateo Valenti and five of his heavily armed mercenaries slipped through the shattered lock of the glass door, their boots silent against the Persian rugs.

“Spread out,” Mateo whispered hoarsely, raising his silenced submachine gun. “Find Moretti. He’s probably drunk off his ass in the nursery. Kill anyone who gets in the way.”

The mercenaries moved like ghosts through the darkened halls. They had calculated this hit down to the minute, believing the estate’s security would be stripped away and the Don incapacitated by his annual grief.

What they didn't know was that Dominic Moretti was not drunk. He was not cowering in a corner. He was hunting.

The first mercenary stepped into the long gallery corridor near the library. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and wax. As the man swept his gun barrel to the left, a shadow detached itself from the dark alcove behind him.

A large, calloused hand wrapped around the mercenary's jaw, twisting sharply before the man could even scream. Dominic caught the falling body silently, lowered it to the marble floor, and disarmed him in a single fluid motion.

One down.

Dominic melted back into the shadows of the hallway. Three years of restless night walking had made him intimately familiar with every creaking floorboard, every hidden corner, and every echo inside this mansion. He knew this house better than he knew his own reflection. The darkness was no longer his prison; it was his domain.

Two halls over, a second mercenary cautiously stepped past the grand staircase, his flashlight beam cutting through the dim parlor.

Crack.

A single suppressed gunshot rang out. The mercenary crumpled to the rug without a sound.

From the far end of the hallway, Mateo Valenti heard the soft thud. Panic flickered in his chest. “Lorenzo! Report!”

Silence answered him.

“Lorenzo!” Mateo hissed into his radio.

“He can't hear you, Mateo,” a deep, terrifying voice echoed from the darkness above the grand staircase.

Mateo and his remaining three men whirled around, training their flashlight beams upward. Standing at the top of the marble stairs, framed by the moonlight pouring through the stained-glass window, was Dominic Moretti.

He didn't look like an exhausted, broken man. He wore his black trousers and a dark shirt, his eyes blazing with a lethal, predatory fire that made Mateo’s knees tremble.

“Moretti!” Mateo yelled, his voice shaking despite his efforts to stay calm. “You’re supposed to be broken! You’re supposed to be a ghost!”

“I was,” Dominic said, stepping slowly down the marble stairs, one step at a time, holding his gun with absolute steady precision. “But tonight, I woke up.”

“Kill him!” Mateo shrieked.

The three mercenaries raised their weapons, but Dominic moved with terrifying speed. He fired three precise shots before the men could even clear their safety catches. The shots echoed through the high ceilings like thunderclaps. All three mercenaries hit the floor, dead before they realized what had happened.

Mateo dropped his gun in absolute terror, falling backward onto the floor, scrambling away like a crab as Dominic reached the bottom of the staircase.

Dominic stepped over the bodies, stopping right in front of the young Valenti boss. He aimed his gun straight at Mateo’s forehead.

“Please!” Mateo sobbed, raising his hands, his previous arrogance entirely shattered. “Please, Moretti! It was just business! We thought—we thought you didn't care about the family anymore!”

Dominic stared down at the man who had dared to bring violence into the house where a little girl had just taught him how to live again.

“You brought guns into my home,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into an icy register that terrified Mateo to his core. “You came into the place where my family rests.”