Locked in His Tower, I Left His Mafia Empire Forever

“Help! Someone’s broken in! I’m locked in the tower!”

I curled up in the corner, trembling as I called the Underboss’s encrypted private line.

The commotion in the west wing was growing louder. The wooden staircase creaked under the weight of approaching footsteps, and I could faintly hear low voices and the clatter of metal.

The call connected.

“Family Security. State your emergency.”

“Someone has broken into the estate! The tower door has been locked from the outside. I can’t get out—”

I had barely given them my location when there was a pause on the other end. Then a familiar, icy voice replaced the operator’s.

“Ma’am, the Godfather already gave us instructions. If you contacted us tonight, it must be because you’re throwing another fit at him.”

My entire body went rigid.

“I’m not throwing a fit! Someone really has broken in!”

“The side door in the west wing was forced open. I can hear them clearly. Please, send someone over—”

The other person cut me off impatiently.

“Ma’am, the security line isn’t here for entertainment. We have a legitimate security operation to handle.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the darkened communicator, my fingers stiff and numb.

A second later, the door downstairs was slammed open.

Then came the rapid thud of footsteps heading straight for the staircase.

Cold sweat trickled down my temple. I cautiously slipped behind the curtains and immediately called back.

“I’m not joking! Please send someone! They’re almost upstairs—”

“Ma’am, the Godfather instructed us that you might deliberately cause a disturbance tonight just to get his attention.”

“Beep—”

The call was cut off again.

An encrypted message appeared moments later.

It was from Lockard:

[Valentina, it’s just one night. Do you really have to make such a scene?]

[I’m only going over to celebrate Camilla’s birthday. Do you really have to make enough noise to alarm everyone downstairs?]

[If you keep this up, I’m not coming home tonight.]

I stared at those few lines, my throat so tight that I couldn’t make a sound.

The intruders were real.

And I really was running out of time.

But Security didn’t believe me.

No.

It was Lockard who had made sure they wouldn’t.

I clenched my teeth and called the family doctor’s private number instead.

“Medical emergency line. How may I—”

“Help me… The estate is under attack. I’m trapped in the tower. Someone is coming upstairs… Please, send someone…”

The operator quickly began recording my information.

“Please provide your location.”

I had barely finished when the operator fell silent for several seconds. When they spoke again, their tone had suddenly become cautious.

“Ma’am, the system shows two suspected false alarm reports from you. We need Don Vito’s personal confirmation before we can activate the emergency protocol.”

My voice trembled from the sheer panic coursing through me.

“I didn’t make a false report! I’m really locked in here! Someone is coming up—”

“Please hold.”

The line remained connected.

A few seconds later, another channel opened. There was noise in the background—an orchestra playing, glasses clinking, and laughter from people raising their drinks.

Then I heard Lockard’s voice come through the line.

“Is that Valentina?”

The operator asked, “Don, Mrs. Valentina reports that the estate is under attack. She’s trapped in the tower—”

“She’s throwing another tantrum.” Lockard interrupted coldly. “Don’t activate the emergency protocol. Just keep watch on the perimeter.”

“Understood, Don.”

I gripped the communicator tightly, listening to my own ragged, trembling breaths.

The footsteps had reached the door.

Heavy blows crashed against the wooden panels, making the entire door shudder. There was nowhere left to hide behind the curtains. The hallway lights cast several shifting silhouettes across the stairwell.

If I stayed here, I would be trapped and killed.

I rushed into the tower’s sitting room and grabbed a brass candlestick, smashing it against the window.

Crash!

Stained glass shattered across the floor.

This was the third floor. Below was a stretch of shrubs in the estate’s rear garden.

If I jumped, I could break my bones.

If I didn’t, I would die here.

I climbed onto the window frame and shouted down,

“Help! Someone has broken in! Somebody—”

Servants in the garden looked up. A gardener stopped what he was doing. Someone in the distance blew a whistle to raise the alarm.

Behind me, the door was slammed hard.

A crack split along the wooden panel, and light spilled through the opening.

I had no time left.

I gritted my teeth, climbed onto the windowsill, twisted the heavy curtains into a rope, and gripped it tightly.

Then I closed my eyes and threw myself over the edge.

The curtains pulled taut in midair before slipping from my hands.

The instant my back slammed into the bushes, agonizing pain exploded through my entire body as though I had been crushed beneath a truck. A sickening, tearing impact shot through my lower leg and abdomen at the same time, and darkness swallowed my vision.

Chaos erupted around me.

“Call the doctor!”

“There really are intruders by the tower!”

“The lady is bleeding!”

I lay on my back among broken branches and loose soil, barely able to move.

Something warm trickled down between my legs.

Before I completely lost consciousness, I was still clutching the communicator in my hand.

Lockard’s messages were still displayed on the screen.