No nanny survived dinner with the mafia boss’s quadruplets—until a broke stranger took charge

The meeting took place in an abandoned marble warehouse near the Queens waterfront—a traditional neutral meeting location for the five major New York crime families.

Victor walked inside, flanked by Frankie and four elite Rinaldi enforcers.

Sitting in an armchair at the far end of the dim room was Dominic Moretti—an elderly, withered man with eyes like a cold reptile, surrounded by twelve armed heavy hitters.

"Victor," Moretti rasped, coughing into a silk handkerchief. "You look healthy for a man who lost his wife and almost lost his territory."

"Cut the talk, Moretti," Victor said, stepping into the center of the room. "You used Julian Vance to try and infiltrate my household. You corrupted a family court judge. You violated the commission rules."

Moretti laughed—a dry, raspy sound. "Rules? The Rinaldi family has controlled the North Shore ports for thirty years. I am dying, Victor. Before I go, I want your territory for my sons."

"Your sons are incompetent," Victor replied coldly. "And you are out of time."

Moretti’s eyes narrowed into dark points of hatred. "I may be out of time, Victor... but so are you."

Moretti clicked his fingers.

Suddenly, the heavy iron doors of the warehouse slammed shut and locked from the outside. Snipers appeared on the high steel catwalks above.

"Did you really think I called you here to talk peace?" Moretti sneered, standing up and stepping behind a bulletproof glass barrier. "Kill them all."

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Automatic gunfire erupted from the catwalks.

"Take cover!" Victor roared, drawing his weapon and lunging behind a heavy concrete pillar.

Frankie and the Rinaldi enforcers returned fire with lethal accuracy, dropping two snipers off the high beams. But they were pinned down, outnumbered three to one, inside a locked kill-box.

Sparks flew off the concrete pillars as heavy caliber rounds chewed through the stone.

"Boss! The rear exit is welded shut!" Frankie yelled over the deafening noise, reload clips clicking into his rifle. "We’re trapped!"

Victor took a deep breath, his eyes cold, calculating the tactical angles. He pulled a small tactical radio from his vest.

"Serena," Victor said into the comms, knowing the encrypted line connected directly to the estate.

Back at the estate, Serena held the master radio receiver in the kitchen, her face pale with terror. "Victor! What’s happening?! I hear shooting!"

"Listen to me, Serena," Victor said, his voice completely calm despite the hail of bullets ricocheting around him. "Tell Tommy to execute Protocol Delta."