For fourteen days, Chicago’s most feared mafia boss watched helplessly as his premature son screamed whenever anyone touched him. Doctors tried everything.

Daniel didn’t say a word.

He just stared at the receipt in his hand. For a man who ran half the city, he suddenly looked completely lost.

Silas Russo wasn’t just an uncle. He was the patriarch. The man who had raised Daniel after his father died.

“He lied to me,” Daniel whispered. It wasn’t a question. It was the sound of a man’s entire foundation cracking.

“We have to go to the police,” I said.

Daniel looked up, his eyes turning cold. “The police work for Silas. If we walk into a precinct, you, me, and Leo will never walk out. And your brother will be dead before morning.”

He threw the car in gear. We drove in silence for thirty minutes, heading toward O’Hare.

I kept Leo close. He was warm, breathing softly. The contrast between this fragile, perfect life in my arms and the violent world trying to destroy him was almost too much to bear.

We pulled into the long-term parking structure. It was massive, concrete, and practically empty at three in the morning.

Daniel navigated to level P4.

We found the spot number on the ticket.

Parked in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust, was a dark blue Volvo station wagon. The most anonymous, un-mafia car imaginable.

Daniel got out. He checked the perimeter, his gun drawn, before waving me over. I stepped out of the SUV, carrying Leo wrapped in a warm blanket.

Daniel used his pocket knife to slide the lock on the Volvo’s door. He opened it.

The interior smelled faintly of vanilla and old leather.

Daniel sat in the driver’s seat. He opened the glovebox.

Inside was a thick manila envelope.

He tore it open. Out fell two passports. One for Camille. One blank, waiting for a newborn’s name. There were stacks of cash. Fifty thousand dollars.

“The money Michael supposedly stole from you,” I said softly.

“He didn’t steal it,” Daniel said, staring at the cash. “Camille gave it to him. To buy this car. To set this up.”

Daniel reached further into the glovebox and pulled out a small, blue velvet box.

He opened it.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a small angel charm.

Daniel’s breath hitched.

“I gave this to her on our first anniversary,” he said, his voice thick. “She never took it off.”

Underneath the bracelet was a folded letter. Daniel unfolded it. I stood close enough to read the delicate handwriting over his shoulder.

Daniel,

If you are reading this, I didn’t make it. And I am so sorry.

I never stopped loving you. But I couldn’t let Silas have our son. You don’t know what he does behind the closed doors of the family, Daniel. He isn’t building an empire for you. He’s building it for himself. He found out about Leo’s heart condition.

I gasped. I looked down at the baby in my arms.

Silas believes a weak heir destroys a dynasty, the letter continued. He told me that if Leo was born with the defect, the baby would ‘not survive the delivery.’ He threatened my life if I told you. He said you would never believe me over him. He was right. You wouldn’t have.

So I hired a mechanic who wasn’t on the payroll. A good man named Michael. He helped me plan an escape. If I am gone, Michael knows the truth. Trust him.

Protect our son.

Camille.

Daniel lowered the letter. His hands were shaking violently.

He had believed his uncle was his protector. Instead, his uncle was the monster who had murdered his pregnant wife because a baby had a treatable medical condition.

“Leo has a heart defect?” Daniel asked me, turning around.

“He has a slight murmur,” I said. “It’s common in premature babies. It’s entirely treatable with medication. He isn’t weak, Daniel. He’s perfectly fine.”

Daniel stood up. The grief in his eyes was instantly incinerated by absolute, unbridled rage.

“Silas killed her over a murmur,” Daniel said.

Before I could answer, Daniel’s phone vibrated.

He looked at the screen. It was a video call. Unknown number.

Daniel answered it, turning the screen so I could see.

It was Silas.

The older man was sitting in a leather wingback chair, smoking a cigar. Behind him, tied to a steel pole in what looked like a warehouse, was my brother. Michael was bleeding heavily from his head, but he was conscious.

“Daniel, my boy,” Silas said smoothly. “I see you missed the hospital extraction.”

“Where is he, Silas?” Daniel’s voice was a low growl.

“He’s safe. For now,” Silas smiled. “Bring me the nurse. And bring me the mistake she’s holding. Do that, and the mechanic lives. You have one hour.”

Silas held something up to the camera.

It was my brother’s missing shoe. He dropped it on the floor.

“Tick tock, Daniel.”

The screen went black.

Daniel put his phone away. He looked at me, then down at Leo.

“I’m not giving him my son,” Daniel said.

“And I’m not letting my brother die,” I replied.