Chapter 2
Sofia's baby was fine.
That was the first thing the doctor told me.
My daughter wasn't.
Bruising.
Stress.
Dehydration.
Blood pressure high enough to make the physician stop pretending everything was routine.
I stood outside the private recovery room while Noah slept curled against Sofia's side.
My suit jacket covered both of them.
Adrian noticed.
He smiled bitterly.
“Very dramatic.”
I turned.
He was seated between two bodyguards.
Evelyn beside him.
“Your wife was punched in the stomach.”
“She was corrected.”
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
There are moments when men show you exactly who they are because they believe the consequences will still belong to somebody else.
Adrian leaned back.
“You've spoiled her her entire life.”
“Careful.”
“No.”
He laughed.
“You want the truth? Fine.”
He pointed toward the recovery-room door.
“Sofia believes being your daughter means nobody gets to tell her no.”
Evelyn nodded.
“She cries, Massimo arrives, and suddenly everyone has to pretend she wasn't disrespectful.”
I walked toward them.
“What did she do?”
Adrian smiled.
“She refused to answer a question.”
“What question?”
Silence.
Interesting.
I crouched in front of him.
“What question?”
He looked away.
Evelyn answered.
“Marriage is private.”
I looked at her.
“So is murder until someone finds the body.”
Her mouth closed.
The recovery-room door opened.
Sofia stood there.
Barefoot now.
Hospital robe thrown over her maternity dress.
She shouldn't have been standing.
“Dad.”
I immediately moved toward her.
She raised one hand.
“I'm okay.”
“No.”
I looked at the nurse.
“Chair.”
The nurse brought one.
Sofia sat.
She looked at Adrian.
He smiled again.
“There she is.”
His voice softened.
“You've made your point. Come home.”
I stared at him.
He was good.
I had to give him that.
The anger disappeared instantly.
Warm husband.
Concerned father.
Perfect son-in-law.
“Come home,” he repeated. “I'll forget tonight happened.”
Sofia's eyes filled.
He leaned forward.
“See? That's what love looks like.”
She whispered:
“You hit our baby.”
His expression sharpened.
“You made me lose my temper.”
There it was again.
Evelyn sighed.
“If you'd stopped provoking him, none of this would have happened.”
Sofia looked at her.
“You told him to hit me.”
Evelyn's face changed.
Small.
But I saw it.
I looked at Sofia.
“When?”
Her hands tightened over her stomach.
“Last month.”
Adrian stood.
One bodyguard shoved him back down.
“She's lying.”
Sofia kept speaking.
“She told him I needed to learn that being pregnant didn't make me untouchable.”
Evelyn laughed coldly.
“You were throwing a tantrum.”
“You locked Noah outside.”
“He needed to understand consequences too.”
My grandson.
Three years old.
I looked at Evelyn.
“What consequences?”
“He wouldn't stop crying.”
She shrugged.
“So I told him he could come inside when his mother learned to behave.”
I felt something cold settle behind my ribs.
Food.
Safety.
A locked door.
A child used as leverage.
Exactly the kind of cruelty cowards call discipline.
Sofia continued.
“Adrian wanted me to tell him about the St. Michael passage.”
My head turned.
Adrian stopped breathing.
There it was.
The real question.
The Caradonna estate had an emergency tunnel beneath the old St. Michael chapel.
Built when my grandfather still believed federal agents were our biggest problem.
Only five living people knew the modern entrance.
I was one.
Sofia was another.
I had shown her when she turned eighteen.
Not for business.
For escape.
“If this house ever becomes dangerous,” I had told her, “you take your children through there.”
Apparently she remembered.
So did someone else.
I looked at Adrian.
“You asked her about St. Michael?”
“No.”
Sofia laughed weakly.
“You broke a lamp beside my head because I wouldn't tell you which wall opens.”
Adrian rolled his eyes.
“Here we go.”
“You grabbed my wrist until I couldn't feel my fingers.”
“You pulled away.”
“You locked Noah outside.”
“He needed to stop clinging to you.”
I stood.
Adrian looked up.
“Every bruise was a question.”
He smiled.
“Every bruise was a refusal.”
Several capos in the room shifted.
Even they hated that.
Good.
Sofia whispered:
“The strange man knew about the passage too.”
I looked at her.
“How?”
“He said Adrian asked him how many men could fit through it.”
I turned back.
“Who was he?”
Sofia closed her eyes.
“He told me his first name.”
“What?”
“Gabriel.”
My heart stopped.
There were thousands of Gabriels.
Only one mattered.
“Last name?”
She looked at me.
“Rourke.”
For twelve years, Gabriel Rourke had been dead to my family.
Not literally.
Worse.
A traitor.
A man accused of selling one of my father's convoys to rivals and disappearing before judgment.
My father had ordered that if Gabriel ever returned, he would never leave again.
I stared at Sofia.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn whispered:
“Oh God.”
I turned.
She covered it quickly.
Too late.
“You know that name.”
“No.”
“You just reacted.”
“I know the story.”
Sofia looked at her.
“No.”
Evelyn's eyes sharpened.
Sofia continued.
“You knew him.”
Silence.
“He called you Evelyn.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
May you like
My daughter looked at me.
“And he said she was the reason everyone thought he betrayed your father.”
