Too Late, Sir: We Left You

Chapter 2

Word Count: 792 | Released on: Today at 18:10

ot need

level and smoothed a stray

need ea

sed the waiting photographer, whose expectant smile faltered as we wa

ait was dead. Just like e

hind a false wall in my closet. Their contents had been assembled piecemeal over the last thirty days:

uzzed on t

om an unknown number, but

e encrypted

with a tissue. Dante was pacing in the background, barking orders into his radio, organizing a perimeter swe

ered into the camera, a wicked, gloating smile pulling at he

ded th

sent me into a rage. I would have thrown the phone against

and settled coldness, as p

te device; its hard, angular casing felt unforgiving in my palm. My most loyal Consigliere-the

ed, my voice steady. "Neutral terr

as d

lers of the reinforced pe

d out into the hallway, securing the perim

a large, expens

his deep voice laboring to project

ped the lid open. A pristine, elaborate strawberry c

s terrified. A stray cat set off the motion sensors, but I had

at the

wberries. He des

mildly aller

he was three years old. The man who commanded the most powerful Family

It was no longer my job

opped. His gaze locked onto the three lar

relaxed husband vanished, replaced

te asked, his voice

" I repli

ark eyes narrowed, sweeping over my cal

said, keeping my

, trying to read the utter stilln

taking another step closer until his chest was inches from me. "I swear o

the kitchen at t

e spark of hope ignite in my son's eyes. He want

The spark died instantly, replaced by th

attention to Leo.

ow, demanding growl. "Tell me wh

Chapter End

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Too Late, Sir: We Left You

L. FITZGERALD Mafia

“I was married to the city's most feared Mafia Boss, but for the past four years, his true priority was always the widow of his fallen Capo. He claimed it was his sacred duty to protect her and her son. But this duty meant missing our seven-year-old son's birthday, giving my boy's custom-made present to the widow's child, and abandoning us every time she shed a fake tear. Over thirty agonizing days, I meticulously taught my son to sever his emotional bond with his father. I instructed him to stop saying 'Dad' and start addressing the Don coldly as 'Sir'. Blinded by his haste to rush back to the widow's side, my husband didn't even read the complex Syndicate documents I placed in front of him. He unknowingly signed away his full custodial rights and authorized our permanent relocation. He actually believed he could keep us waiting in his gilded cage while systematically destroying every promise he ever made to his own flesh and blood. How could a man who once swore to set the world on fire for our family become so ruthlessly blind to his own son's quiet grief? Today, the thirty-day irrevocable execution window officially closed. "I never want to see the Boss again, Mom. Let's go." As the Don sped off to deal with yet another of the widow's manufactured emergencies, I took my son and boarded an untraceable private jet, leaving the Boss to return to a completely empty home.”