My mother imprisoned my young pregnant wife inside a hidden room beneath our mafia estate, convinced her I had abandoned her, and left her wedding ring inside our baby's empty crib so I would believe she had run away. But the moment I found the desperate message she carved into the wall, I realized my wife had never escaped—and someone inside my own family wanted her to disappear forever.

The screen went black.

Silence settled heavy over the study, broken only by the hum of the cooling fan inside the computer terminal.

Marco slammed his fist against the wall. “That son of a bitch. He let his wife take the fall! He let his family tear itself apart while he sat in luxury in Switzerland!”

“He didn't just let it happen,” Bellini corrected grimly, stepping closer to the desk. “He planned it. Vittorio always operated three steps ahead of everyone else. He used Constantina’s paranoia and Sophia’s madness to clear his debts and fake his death.”

I sat back in my chair, staring at the blank monitor screen.

The rage inside me wasn't wild or chaotic like it had been in the hidden room beneath the estate. It was cold, sharp, and focused like a diamond blade.

Grace opened the study door slowly, holding sleeping Leo against her shoulder. She looked at the dark screen, then at my face.

“He wants our son,” she said, not as a question, but as a realization.

“He will never touch him,” I said, standing up from my chair.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

I walked over to her, wrapping my arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

“We aren't running,” I said firmly. “And we aren't hiding. Vittorio thinks he’s playing with a boy who still seeks his approval. He doesn't realize that the man standing here has something far more dangerous than an empire to protect.”

“What’s that?” Grace asked softly.

“A real family.”

I looked at Marco. “Call Detective Singh. Tell her we have new evidence regarding international financial fraud involving Vittorio Rossi. And then call our private security team.”