THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME WIPE SPILLED SOUP FROM HIS 81-YEAR-OLD FATHER'S DINNER JACKET—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE KNOCKED THE BOWL OVER HIMSELF,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE OLD MAN WAS SITTING ALONE AT THE END OF THE TABLE

The cavernous ceilings of Grand Central seemed to shrink, trapping us in the dimly lit lower concourse.

Uncle Marcus stood fifteen feet away.

His gun was leveled directly at my chest.

I stopped breathing. My hands gripped the edges of my wool coat. I had never seen a real gun outside of a movie.

Gabriel didn't flinch.

He didn't raise his hands.

He simply closed the leather briefcase with a sharp snap.

"Marcus," Gabriel said. His voice echoed, low and dangerous. "What is this?"

Marcus’s expression was sorrowful, like a father scolding a child. "A necessary correction, Gabriel. You were never supposed to find that locker. Your father was supposed to sign those papers tomorrow, transferring Leo’s trust to Isabella."

Gabriel stepped slightly to his left, placing himself squarely in front of me.

"You're working with Isabella?"

"Isabella is a greedy, terrified woman," Marcus said, gesturing with his free hand. "When she accidentally found your mother's letter a month ago, she panicked. She realized half the Romano empire legally belonged to Leo. So she hired a private investigator to find him."

Marcus smiled thinly.

"Unfortunately for her, my men found the investigator first. She’s been paying me to keep Leo hidden, thinking I was just a mercenary. She didn't realize I've been keeping him hidden for eighteen years."

Gabriel’s shoulders went rigid.

The realization hung in the cold air.

"The car crash," Gabriel whispered. "It wasn't an accident."

"Your mother was asking too many questions about the family accounts," Marcus said smoothly. "She had to go. But Leo... Leo survived. I couldn't bring myself to kill my own nephew. So I locked him away in a private facility upstate. Drugged. Kept quiet."

My stomach churned. Eighteen years.

"And the boy?" Gabriel asked, nodding toward the briefcase. "Elijah?"

"A complication," Marcus sighed. "One of the nurses grew attached to Leo. They had a child. The nurse died in childbirth. The boy has been a useful bargaining chip to keep Leo compliant."

Marcus raised the gun higher. "Hand over the briefcase, Gabriel. It has the location of the facility. Without it, you'll never find them. And your father will sign the assets over to me to save your life."

Gabriel didn't move.

"I'll give you three seconds," Marcus warned. "One."

Gabriel glanced at me over his shoulder. His eyes flicked down to my hands, then to a heavy metal trash can beside the bench.

"Two."

I understood.

I grabbed the rim of the trash can and shoved it forward with all my strength.

It screeched across the polished stone floor, slamming into the legs of the two men nearest to Marcus.

"Go!" Gabriel shouted.

He swung the heavy leather briefcase upward, catching Marcus under the jaw.

The gun went off with a muffled thwip.

Marble shattered against the pillar inches from my head.

I ran.

Gabriel grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the maintenance corridor.

We sprinted down a narrow hallway, our footsteps echoing against the tile. Shouts rang out behind us.

Gabriel burst through a heavy steel door, dragging me into a dimly lit loading dock. His black SUV was parked just outside the delivery gates.

We dove into the car.

Gabriel slammed it into gear, tearing out of the alley just as Marcus’s men broke through the doors.

My chest heaved. I couldn't stop shaking.

"Are you hit?" Gabriel demanded, checking his rearview mirror.

"No," I gasped. "No, I'm okay."

Gabriel exhaled sharply. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, Claire. I dragged you into this."

"Where are we going?" I asked, looking back. No one was following us yet.

Gabriel reached over and opened the briefcase on the passenger seat.

He pulled out a medical file.

"The briefcase has Leo's medical records," he said, handing the file to me. "Read the address on the top page."

I opened it in the glow of the streetlights.

"St. Jude’s Private Care. It's in Yonkers."

Gabriel floored the gas. "Then that's where we're going."

It took forty minutes to reach the facility. It was an imposing, iron-gated building hidden behind tall pine trees.

Gabriel didn't bother buzzing the intercom. He drove the SUV straight through the wooden security arm, splintering it into pieces.

We rushed through the front doors.

The lobby was empty. A single receptionist sat behind thick glass. She looked up, terrified, as Gabriel approached.

"Room 402," Gabriel said, reading from the file. "Where is it?"

The woman stammered, pointing toward the elevators. "Fourth floor. East wing."

We ran to the elevator.

When the doors opened on the fourth floor, the hallway was silent. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

We found Room 402.

The door was ajar.

Gabriel pushed it open.

The bed was unmade. A tray of half-eaten food sat on a small table.

But the room was empty.

Gabriel slammed his fist against the wall. "Damn it! Marcus moved him."

I walked slowly into the room.

It felt cold. Like a prison cell disguised as a hospital.

Then, I noticed something on the floor near the radiator.

A small, crumpled piece of paper.

I knelt and picked it up.

It was a child's drawing, done in blue crayon.

It showed a tall, striped lighthouse standing on a rocky cliff. And next to the lighthouse were two stick figures holding hands.

I stared at the drawing. My heart skipped a beat.

I knew this lighthouse.

"Gabriel," I said softly.

He turned.

"This is Montauk Point," I said. "My mother grew up next to this lighthouse. She painted it a dozen times."

Gabriel frowned, stepping closer. "Why would my brother's son draw your mother's hometown?"

Before I could answer, a voice spoke from the doorway.

"Because she told him stories about it."

We spun around.

Standing in the doorway was an older woman in a nurse's uniform. Her nametag read Helen.

She wasn't looking at Gabriel.

She was staring directly at me.

"You have her eyes," Helen whispered.

I took a step forward. "You know my mother? Sarah Bennett?"

Helen smiled sadly.

"Sarah didn't just work here, Claire," she said. "She was the nurse who fell in love with Leo eighteen years ago. She is Elijah's mother."

The room tilted.

I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself.

"No," I stammered. "That's impossible. I'm her daughter. I'm twenty-seven."

"I know," Helen said gently. "She had you before she met Leo. But Elijah is her son."

Gabriel stared at me. "Your mother... is my brother's wife?"

Helen nodded.

"But Uncle Marcus said Elijah's mother died," Gabriel said.

"Marcus believes what he wants to believe," Helen said. "Sarah faked her death to protect you, Claire. She knew if Marcus found out she had an older daughter, he would use you to control Leo."

My mind spun. The hospital bills. The sudden surgery. The way my mother had insisted I take the job at the Romano estate six months ago.

She knew.

She placed me in that house on purpose.

"Where is she?" I demanded, tears prickling my eyes. "Where is my mother?"

Helen's face fell.

She looked at the window.

"She came here an hour ago," Helen whispered. "She took Elijah and Leo. She said it was finally time to run."