Sixty million dollars had just changed hands when a baby crawled under my desk, grabbed my trouser cuff, and looked up at me with the exact gray eyes of my dead brother. No child was supposed to be anywhere near the private office of a mafia boss, but when I saw what was hanging around her neck, I knew she hadn't gotten into my house by accident.

Twenty minutes later, Vincent Rizzo was locked in the reinforced basement holding cell—stripped of his phone, his gold watch, and his authority—while Frankie and two trusted men stood watch outside the iron door.

I rode the private elevator back up to the penthouse office, my boots heavy against the floor.

When I reached the biometric wall panel, I tapped the security sequence three times and scratched twice against the steel plate. A second later, the heavy door clicked and swung open.

Hannah Reed stood in the center of the panic room, holding Grace in her arms. The baby was chewing happily on a teething ring, her gray eyes wide and curious as she looked at me.

“Is it... is it over?” Hannah asked, her voice shaking.

“Vincent is in the holding cell,” I said, stepping inside the secure room. The air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender baby wipes and formula. “He won't be hurting anyone ever again.”

Hannah let out a long, ragged breath, her knees finally giving out as she sat down hard on the edge of the secure cot. “Thank God... oh, thank God.”

I walked over, knelt down in front of her, and gently reached out. Hannah hesitated for a fraction of a second, then carefully transferred Grace into my arms.

The baby felt impossibly light—a fragile, living anchor connecting me to a brother I thought I had lost forever. I looked down at her face. The ring of gold around her gray irises was unmistakable now. She was a Caruso through and through.

“Where is he, Hannah?” I asked softly.

“Who?”

“Julian.”

Hannah looked down at her hands, tears welling in her eyes again. “I don't know, Mr. Caruso. I swear to God, I don't know. Three weeks ago, he left the apartment in Queens. He said he had to tie up loose ends—that he had proof of what Vincent did, and that he couldn't stay in hiding any longer. He promised he would come back for us by my birthday. But he never came. That’s why I brought Grace to work... I ran out of money, my landlord locked us out, and I didn't know who else to turn to.”

I stood up, holding Grace securely against my shoulder. She let out a soft burp and patted my lapel with her tiny hand.

“Pack your things, Hannah,” I instructed calmly.

She looked up, startled. “Pack? Where?”

“You’re not staying in that apartment in Queens anymore,” I said, my tone absolute. “And you’re certainly not cleaning floors in this house starting tomorrow. Effective immediately, you and Grace are moving into the family east wing on the third floor. I’m assigning a permanent security detail of four men to your door twenty-four hours a day.”

“Mr. Caruso, I can’t do that... I’m just an employee—”

“You’re the mother of my niece,” I interrupted, looking her straight in the eye. “And until I find my brother—alive or dead—no one in this city is going to lay a finger on either of you.”

Hannah opened her mouth to argue, but looking at my face, she closed it and slowly nodded. “Thank you, Michael.”

I turned toward the office door, carrying my niece out into the penthouse suite.

The sixty million dollars from the morning’s transaction was still sitting in the basement vault. The syndicate was secure. The traitor was in a cage. But as I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sprawling Manhattan skyline glittering under the evening stars, I knew the real war was only just beginning.