The Mafia Boss Saw the Danger First—Then He Told the Waitress

Rosalind stared at the scorched book on the desk, her breath catching in her chest.

She knew that exact binding style before she even touched the leather.

The goatskin cover was trimmed with a blind-tooled border that only one man in New England had mastered.

Her father had called it the French chevron stitch, designed to lock two distinct layers of calfskin over a hidden core.

“Do not touch the outer edges,” Rosalind warned instinctively, stepping forward.

Her voice had lost its tremble, replaced by the muscle memory of a craft she had practiced for a decade.

Ambrose and Pike both watched her without moving a muscle.

“Why?” Ambrose asked quietly.

Rosalind pointed a finger at two microscopic holes near the headcap of the spine.

“My father learned this technique from an Italian conservator in Florence.”

“If you try to pry the boards open without releasing the inner brass pins, a glass capillary inside the spine will shatter.”

“The acid will dissolve the parchment inside into black slurry within thirty seconds.”

Pike let out a slow, appreciative breath, resting his pen on the desk.

“She is indeed Warren Halloway’s daughter.”

Rosalind looked up, meeting Ambrose’s steady gray eyes.

“Who does this ledger belong to?”

“It belonged to my father, Marco Raldi,” Ambrose answered.

“Before he died, he recorded twenty years of bribes, offshore accounts, and the names of every judge, police chief, and politician on our payroll.”

“When the Castiglione family launched their coup six years ago, my father gave the ledger to Warren to disguise it inside an antique bible.”

“Your father was supposed to hand it over to me the following morning.”

“Instead, someone set the workshop on fire that very night.”

Rosalind felt the air grow thin around her.

“You knew,” she said, her voice turning razor-sharp.

“You knew my father died protecting your family’s dirty money, and you left me working sixteen-hour shifts in a diner for six years.”

Ambrose stepped closer until he stood less than a foot from her.

“We thought the ledger burned with your father.”

“We only recovered this safe from the wreckage three days ago, buried beneath a false concrete floor that the demolition crew uncovered.”

“The Castigliones found out about the discovery at the exact same hour.”

“They knew Warren had an apprentice.”

Ambrose pointed down at the gold ring on her hand.

“Under the old syndicate laws of Rhode Island, no family can touch the wedded wife of a Boss without an open declaration of war from all five families.”

“That ring is the only reason those men took a photograph instead of putting a bullet through your forehead tonight.”

Rosalind looked from the ring to the charred volume.

“So you need me to disarm the acid trap and translate my father’s notes.”

“I do,” Ambrose said.

“And in return, I will pay off your debt, provide the best private medical care in the world for Miles, and hand you the head of the man who lit the match.”

Before Rosalind could answer, the heavy leaded windows of the study rattled violently.