“Please Check That Gift Box, Sir,” the Maid’s 3-Year-Old Whispered as the Crime Boss’s Daughter Reached for the Ribbon—Seconds Later He Found a Wired Device Inside...

Frank leaned back, the mask of the loyal uncle slowly sliding away. The calm warmth in his eyes turned into cold, calculating glass.

"You were always too sharp for your own good, kid," Frank murmured.

Dominic felt a cold sensation settle in his gut. "It was you."

"Do you know what it’s like to spend forty years building an empire, only to be passed over for a thirty-year-old kid because of blood?" Frank spat, his voice dropping into a harsh rasp. "Your father promised me equal share! But when he died, he gave you the entire syndicate. You turned us into legitimate contractors, corporate lawyers, and real estate developers! You made us soft!"

"I made us survive!" Dominic snapped, slamming his palm onto the metal table. "Federal grand juries were tearing Philly apart! I built a legitimate empire so our children wouldn't have to die in street gutters!"

"Your children!" Frank laughed bitterly. "You care so much about little Sophie, but what about the rest of us? The New York families offered me three times our annual revenue to turn Philadelphia over to them. They wanted you, your captains, and your political puppets gone in one clean strike."

Dominic realized the true horror of the plan. The bomb wasn't just a hit; it was a hostile corporate takeover executed through blood and fire. New York’s Moretti syndicate had bought Frank to wipe out Philly's leadership in a single second.