Page 28 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
Information.
My mind immediately goes to the ledger. To whatever happened in that mansion that I might have missed.
“I’ll trade you,” she continues. “Information for protection. For me and my son.”
Son.
The word hits me harder than Danny Russo’s bullet hit him twenty minutes ago.
She has a kid. And based on the timeline—six years since that night—the math lines up perfectly.
“How old?”
“What?”
“Your son. How old is he?”
There’s a pause. “Five.”
Five years old. Born nine months after that night. The math is impossible to ignore.
“Where are you?”
“Portland.”
“I’ll send a plane tomorrow morning. Be on it.”
“How do I know?—”
“Be on it or don’t. Your choice. But if someone’s really trying to kill you, you’re already dead if you stay where you are.”
Silence. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be on it.”
“Someone will contact you with details. Don’t talk to anyone about this. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Just be ready.”
“Okay.”
Neither of us hangs up. We just stay connected across three thousand miles and six years of silence.
“Goodnight,” she finally whispers.
The line goes dead.
I sit there with the phone in my hand, staring at nothing.
She’s coming back. After six years of searching, after giving up hope months ago, after accepting that I’d never find her—she called me.
And she has information I might need, and a son who’s five years old.
I dial Viktor.
He answers immediately. “Boss?”
“I need a plane to Portland first thing tomorrow. Private charter. Have it pick up a woman and a child and bring them directly to the estate.”
“Understood. What else?”
“Prepare the guest wing. Stock it with everything a woman and a young kid would need. Food, clothes, toys, whatever. And Viktor?—”
