Forced to Serve Her Mob Landlord and His Mistress Inside Her Leased Brooklyn Bakery, a Whistleblower Meekly Complies While Secretly Mail-Bombing the IRS With Evidence of His $4.2 Million Extortion...
Leo’s eyes were bloodshot, two days’ worth of caffeine buzzing through him, but there was a fierce, almost manic energy in his movements. He’d barely slept since discovering Dominic’s embezzlement. Now, he was diving deeper, spurred by a hunch.
“Bianca’s finances,” he announced, gesturing to a screen displaying a convoluted mess of bank statements and credit card charges. “She spends a fortune. High-end boutiques, private drivers, exclusive nurseries.”
I watched over his shoulder, a knot tightening in my stomach. “Nursery? She doesn’t have a child, does she?”
“Not yet, it seems,” Leo clarified, pulling up a new window. “But she’s put down a retainer—a huge one—at ‘Little Lords & Ladies,’ one of the most exclusive, absurdly expensive infant care facilities in Manhattan. Six figures just to secure a spot for a child that isn’t even born yet.”
He scrolled through a string of medical bills. “And these. All for prenatal care. But the name listed on these confidential medical records… it’s not Bianca Lanza.”
My heart pounded. This was it. A new layer of deception.
“It’s an alias,” Leo continued, his voice hushed. “Bianca’s using a fake name for all her medical and nursery expenses. But I found a referral from her primary physician, hidden in a stack of insurance claims. It’s for a specialized genetic counseling service.”
He clicked furiously, a new document loading. It was a digital copy, stamped “CONFIDENTIAL” and heavily redacted, but the critical information was starkly visible.
“This is a paternity DNA report,” Leo stated, his voice tight. “Requested by Bianca, using her alias. The father listed… it’s not Dominic Garramone.”
My breath caught in my throat. I leaned closer to the screen, my eyes scanning the document. The name of the alleged father, while partially redacted, still held a familiar ring, despite the obscured portions.
“Don Moretti,” Leo said, his voice barely audible, reading the name on the screen. He looked up, his face pale. “Dominic Garramone’s syndicate boss.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Bianca wasn’t just Dominic’s mistress. She was carrying the child of Don Moretti, the very man Dominic was stealing from. Dominic had not only embezzled $4.2 million from his superior, but he had installed his boss’s pregnant mistress in the brownstone, under his own roof.
“He’s been blackmailing his own chief,” I whispered, the full scope of Dominic’s audacity hitting me. “Using Bianca and the baby as leverage, probably. This explains why she’s so comfortable giving orders, why Dominic lets her get away with anything.”
Leo nodded slowly. “This DNA report, combined with the offshore accounts… it’s a double-cross. Dominic wasn’t just skimming from the syndicate; he was compromising their boss’s family, too. This isn’t just a federal crime anymore, Elena. This is a capital offense in their world.”
The kitchen knife I’d been idly wiping clean slipped from my numb fingers, clattering loudly on the tile floor. The sound echoed in the sudden silence of the apartment, a harsh, metallic clang against the revelation of such a dangerous, high-stakes secret.
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