The Mafia Boss Killed His Mother

Lilian Perry's voice crackled through the phone, dripping with self-satisfaction. "You should see her now, Gianna. On her knees, begging. It's almost pathetic."

My blood went cold. "Lilian, listen to me. You need to step away from that woman right now! She’s Anthony's mother!"

"Don't lie to me, Gianna." Lilian laughed, sharp and cruel. "I just taught her a little lesson about wandering where she doesn't belong and taking things that aren't hers."

With that, she hung up.

I didn't hesitate. My thumb found my fiancé's contact, and I hit dial.

One ring. Two. Three.

He picked up on the fourth.

Music blasted through the speaker—something classical and expensive, the kind of music that cost more per hour than most people made in a month. Crystal glasses clinked in the background. The annual gathering of the five mafia families was already in full swing.

"Anthony," I said, keeping my voice steady, "your mother is in the east wing of the estate. Your secretary, Lilian, is assaulting her. You need to get there now, or—"

"Stop." His voice cut through like a blade. "I know exactly what you're going to say."

I froze. "What?"

He sighed, the sound thick with impatience. "Gianna, we'll be married soon, but that doesn't give your family the right to overstep. Your mother can't use this arrangement as an excuse to wander onto my property and help herself to whatever catches her eye."

My knuckles went white around the phone. "You've got it wrong. That woman is your—"

"I don't care if she's my future mother-in-law, or the damn Pope's mother. I won’t tolerate her greed simply because she gave birth to you." His voice sharpened. "Today she sneaks around my estate. Tomorrow what? She barges into my office demanding a cut of the business? Lilian did what needed to be done—she taught her a hard lesson. You should be grateful."

Grateful? I felt absurd. He wanted me grateful that his secretary had laid hands on the woman who raised him.

Just hours ago, my mother had been discussing how the Vitale family could strengthen the Falcone family’s operation, how she wanted to help him.

And this was how he repaid her.

If I ever ended up on the wrong side of that secretary, would he have my back?

If he couldn't handle something this simple, maybe the engagement was a mistake.

I lowered my voice. "Anthony, she's hurt. Seriously hurt. You'd better find her and get her medical attention. She's the woman who raised you."

Silence stretched between us.

Then he laughed—a sharp, mocking sound. "Gianna, are you out of your mind? Your mother didn't raise me. Stop trying to make your family sound more important than they are. Now I see why Lilian can't stand you people."

His voice hardened. "I'm honestly surprised she only slapped your mother once. Listen, my mother will be here any minute. If you don't want me to call off the engagement, stop targeting Lilian."

He hung up.

The moment I lowered the phone, a notification lit up my screen.

Anthony had posted a photo of the estate's main ballroom—all crystal chandeliers and white roses.

The caption read: "To the woman who gave me everything. My mother. Nothing could ever matter more than you."

I stared at the photo for three seconds. Then I tapped like.

Through the windshield, the wrought iron gates of the estate loomed closer—a sprawling Mediterranean estate perched on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic.

Somewhere on that property, Lilian was wiping blood from her knuckles.

Inside the ballroom, Anthony was adjusting his cuff links, wondering why his mother hadn't arrived yet.

Soon, my car pulled up to the gate.