Ten days. That was all the doctor believed my six-year-old twins had left, and for the first time in my life, all the money, guns, fear, and power I had built as one of Chicago’s most feared mafia bosses meant absolutely nothing. By three that afternoon, while death waited inside my mansion, a penniless woman stood outside my gates refusing to leave, and I had no idea she was about to change everything.

I caught Nora before her head hit the floor.

She was light as a feather, her body burning with exhaustion. I lifted her into my arms, carrying her to the plush velvet sofa on the far side of the master wing, laying her down gently. I draped a heavy fleece blanket over her, staring at her pale, peaceful face.

This woman had walked into my fortress, challenged my power, saved my children, and collapsed from pure exhaustion—all in under two hours.

The heavy oak doors of the medical wing opened quietly. Prescott stepped inside, his jaw set in a hard, grim line.

"Yates confessed," Prescott whispered, walking over to me.

I stood up slowly, my voice dropping into a pitch so dark it made the air in the room feel heavy. "Tell me."

"Victor Blackwood paid him two million dollars over eighteen months," Prescott said, handing me a leather binder recovered from Yates's medical bag. "Yates was introducing microscopic doses of Aptotoxin-9 into the twins' routine vitamin injections during their monthly checkups. Blackwood wanted to break you, Lawson. He knew he couldn't defeat the Mercer syndicate in a street war, so he decided to destroy your heart."

A cold, terrifying calm settled over me.

The grief that had consumed me for months transformed instantly into an absolute, unadulterated fire of vengeance. Victor Blackwood—the leader of the rival West Side Cartel—had poisoned two six-year-old babies to take my territory.

"Where is Yates now?" I asked softly.

"In the basement. Tied to a chair."

"Keep him alive until morning," I said, looking over at Nora sleeping on the couch. "Then let Dr. Yates experience three times the dose he gave my children."

"Understood," Prescott nodded. "And the girl? Nora Sterling?"

"I ran her background while she was working on the kids," Prescott continued, pulling a tablet from his coat. "Everything she said checks out. She was BioVance's top researcher. But there's one detail she didn't tell you, Lawson."

I turned, frowning. "What detail?"

Prescott tapped the tablet screen and handed it to me.

Displayed on the screen was an old news article from six years ago, showing a photo of a grand charity gala in downtown Chicago. Standing in the center of the photo was my late wife, Genevieve, wearing a emerald silk dress.

And standing right beside Genevieve, holding her hand and laughing happily, was Nora Sterling.

"They were half-sisters," Prescott whispered. "Genevieve's father had a second family in Boston. Nora didn't come here just because she intercepted lab reports, Lawson. She came here because Jonah and Blythe are her blood."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I looked down at the tablet, then across the room at Nora.

I remembered Genevieve speaking once, years ago, about a younger sister she had lost contact with after her family collapsed. Genevieve had searched for her, but the records had been erased by her corrupt father.

Nora hadn't come here for money. She hadn't come for protection. She had walked through the gates of Chicago's most feared mafia boss, willing to die, just to save her sister's children.

Slowly, Nora stirred on the sofa. Her amber eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dim blue light of the room. She looked over at the bed, seeing Jonah and Blythe sleeping peacefully, their breathing strong and deep.

"They're... they're stable?" she rasped, trying to sit up.

I walked over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, easing her back down onto the cushions.

"They're breathing on their own," I said softly. "Their counts are back to normal."

Nora let out a quiet, weeping laugh, wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Thank God."

I sat on the wooden coffee table across from her, looking directly into her amber eyes.