The Mafia Boss Threatened to Shut Down the Restaurant — Until the 3-Year-Old Pointed at the Waitress and Said "Mama"

Late that night, Clara sat quietly on the edge of the massive bed in the master suite. Leo was sleeping peacefully beside her, his small fingers still clutching her shirt.

The heavy mahogany door slowly creaked open.

Silvia slipped into the room, making sure no guards were watching. She closed the door silently behind her. The elegant, high-society facade was completely gone, replaced by a cold, feral, and demonic desperation.

Silvia walked up to the bed, leaning in so close that Clara could feel her breath.

"I don't know how you survived that fire," Silvia hissed, her voice a toxic, lethal whisper. "But you are not going to steal my throne, Isabella. I worked too hard to get rid of you."

Clara froze, her heart hammering against her ribs.

As Silvia leaned in, a highly distinct, overwhelming wave of heavy jasmine perfume filled Clara’s senses.

The cinematic trigger was instantaneous. Clara gasped in agonizing pain as a violent, repressed memory exploded in her brain. She saw the heavy rain. She saw the steering wheel of a luxury car. And she remembered the distinct smell of jasmine perfume lingering on a pair of cut brake lines just before her car plummeted off the dark mountain road.

"You..." Clara breathed, her eyes widening in absolute horror. "You caused the crash. You tried to murder me."

Silvia smiled a cold, merciless, wicked smile.

"And tomorrow," Silvia whispered, pulling a small, untraceable syringe from her pocket, "I am going to finish the job. Enjoy your last night with your brat."