My three-year-old daughter walked straight up to Lorenzo Duca, the most feared man in Chicago, and asked him for a five-minute hug because she wanted to know what having a father felt like.

“Her name is Sofie,” Lorenzo said, his voice flat and warning. He did not step away from my daughter. Instead, his hand dropped naturally onto her shoulder, an instinctive shield. “She is my daughter. And she is now under the Duca bloodline’s total protection.”

Matteo’s eyes darted from Sofie’s face to mine, then back to Lorenzo. A false, glittering smile spread across his lips, though I could see a bead of sweat forming near his temple.

“A daughter?” Matteo chuckled, though the sound was brittle. “A little late for April Fools, Lorenzo. Where did she come from? Who is the girl?”

“Clara is my guest,” Lorenzo countered sharply. “Her background is my concern, not yours. You mentioned the docks. Sal handles the dock manifest tonight. You will stay clear of the southern warehouse until further notice.”

Matteo’s smile vanished. “You’re sidelining me? Over a stray child and a former maid?”

In a fraction of a second, Lorenzo moved.

He didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t yell. He simply closed the distance between himself and his cousin so fast the air seemed to split. Lorenzo grabbed Matteo by the collar of his thousand-dollar cashmere coat, shoving him back against the marble pillar with an impact that echoed through the foyer.

Sofie gasped and hid behind my knees. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight.

“Speak about them with disrespect again,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice deadly soft, “and I will throw you into the lake with an anchor tied to your feet. Do you hear me, Matteo?”

Matteo clawed at Lorenzo’s grip, his face reddening. “I’m your blood, Lorenzo! Julian is dead, and now you threaten me for strangers?”

“Julian was my blood, too,” Lorenzo hissed into his face. “And someone sold him out. Sal is tracing the wire transfers from the Zurich account, Matteo. The ones authorized by someone with senior logistics access. If I find your name on that ledger, not even God will be able to save you from what I do.”

Lorenzo shoved him away with disgust.

Matteo stumbled, straightening his lapels with shaking hands. He threw a poisonous glance at me, a look full of pure, venomous malice, before turning on his heel and storming out through the massive front doors.

“Lorenzo,” I whispered, my voice shaking as the doors slammed shut. “It was him. He’s the one who betrayed Julian.”

Lorenzo turned back to us. The cold fury vanished from his eyes the moment they landed on Sofie. He dropped to one knee, ignoring the dirt on the floor, and opened his arms.

“Come here, little one,” he said gently.

Sofie hesitated for a second, then dashed forward, throwing her small arms around his neck.

“You were angry,” she whispered into his ear.

“Not at you, Sofie,” Lorenzo answered, resting his chin on her curly hair. “Never at you. I will never let anyone hurt you or your mommy. I promise you that on my life.”

That evening, the storm finally passed, leaving the night sky clear and studded with cold stars.

After Sofie had fallen asleep in her new canopy bed, exhausted from a day of endless excitement, Lorenzo led me to the private balcony adjoining his master suite. The lights of the Chicago skyline twinkled in the distance like scattered diamonds.

He handed me a glass of red wine.

“You’ve lived through hell because of my family,” he said quietly, leaning against the wrought-iron railing.

“I had Sofie,” I replied, looking out over the water. “She was the light in that hell. Every time she laughed, I forgot that the rent was two weeks late. But I hated you, Lorenzo. For three years, I thought you were just another wealthy monster who took what he wanted from a scared nurse and walked away without looking back.”

Lorenzo looked down at his glass, swirling the dark liquid.

“When I woke up in that hospital bed in Zurich four years ago, half my memory was gone,” he murmured. “The doctors told me it was the trauma from the bullet wounds and the sepsis. I remembered my name. I remembered my businesses. But for months, I had dreams about a woman with hazel eyes who held my hand while the world went black. I thought she was an angel. A hallucination created by a dying brain.”

He set his glass down on the stone ledge and stepped closer to me. The city wind ruffled his dark hair.

“Julian took the secret to his grave to protect you,” Lorenzo continued, his voice thick with emotion. “He knew Matteo was getting greedy. He knew the syndicate was rotting from within. But now that you’re back... now that I know you were real...”

He lifted his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. The touch was so tender, so completely at odds with his terrifying reputation, that a shudder ran down my spine.

“I won’t lose you again, Clara.”