THE MAFIA BOSS LOCKED UP THE BABYSITTER WHO CARRIED TWO HALLOWEEN BABIES OUT OF A BURNING MANSION UNTIL THE DEAD MOTHER'S PHONE SHOWED THE LAST NUMBER SHE EVER CALLED

Six months later.

The spring sun warmed the stone balcony of the Valenti estate, melting the last traces of winter snow from the pine trees lining the driveway.

Nico sat behind his father's mahogany desk, reviewing the quarterly shipping ledgers for Valenti Freight. The marine accounts were gone, Paulie Rizzo was living under a new name in Miami, and the Brandt family empire had been completely absorbed into the Valenti territory without a single shot fired on the streets.

A quiet knock sounded on the office door.

Dante stepped inside, carrying the morning mail and a small, unlabelled postal box stamped with a Vermont postmark.

"This came in the secure slot this morning, boss," Dante said, setting the box on the desk.

Nico looked at the package. There was no return address, but the postal code belonged to a tiny town nestled in the Green Mountains.

He pulled his pocketknife, sliced through the tape, and opened the cardboard flaps.

Inside sat a framed photograph.

Nico picked it up.

The photo showed a bright, sunlit backyard surrounded by tall pine trees. In the center stood three-year-old Leo and Maya, both laughing hysterically as they ran through a garden sprinkler, wearing matching red rain boots.

Standing behind them on the porch was Josie, wearing a yellow sundress, holding a cup of coffee, looking directly at the camera with a warm, radiant smile.

On the back of the photograph, written in neat, clear script, were six words:

The hallway light is still on.

Nico looked at the photograph for a long moment, a subtle, genuine smile touching his lips—the first real smile his face had worn in years.

He set the photograph carefully on the corner of his desk, right next to his father's silver St. Christopher medal.

"Boss?" Dante asked from the doorway. "Do you need anything else?"