The most feared man in Chicago froze when my eleven-month-old daughter stopped crying in his arms and clung to him like she had known him all her life. I thought I was about to lose my job for bringing Fern into his mansion—but days later, a blood test would reveal why she trusted Stellan Cross before either of us understood the truth.

Back at the Cross estate, the sun was beginning to dip below the Chicago skyline, casting long, bruised shadows across the manicured lawns.

Stellan had insisted that Selene and Fern move into the secure residential wing of the mansion rather than returning to their cramped apartment in Pilsen—at least until his security teams could sweep the city for any lingering traces of Evan’s associates.

Selene sat in a spacious, beautifully appointed guest suite, rocking Fern in her arms. The room was safer than any fortress she had ever imagined, equipped with reinforced glass, private security details stationed outside the door, and every luxury a mother could dream of.

Yet, she felt like a prisoner in a gilded cage.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Before Selene could answer, Stellan stepped into the room. He had removed his suit jacket, his white shirt collar unbuttoned, making him look slightly less like a syndicate boss and dangerously more like a real man.

“How is she?” Stellan asked quietly, keeping his distance near the doorway as if afraid his mere presence would alarm them.

“She’s sleeping,” Selene answered without looking up. “She’s exhausted. So am I.”

Stellan walked slowly over to the window, staring out into the twilight. “I’ve doubled the security perimeter around the estate. My men are sweeping every digital footprint Evan left behind. Whatever debt he owed, whatever mess he made, it ends tonight. You and Fern are safe here.”

“Safe?” Selene let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Stellan, you run an underground empire. Your enemies control half the streets in this city. Bringing my daughter into your war zone doesn't make us safe; it paints a massive target on our backs.”

Stellan turned sharply, his gray eyes flashing with fierce intensity. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to find out my dead twin brother lived a lie, stole my name, broke your heart, and left me an uncle—no, a father—to a child I didn't know existed?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a raw, gravelly whisper.

“I spent my entire life building walls to keep people out because anyone I ever loved ended up in a grave. And now, in the span of forty-eight hours, a little girl who looks like my mother walks into my office, holds onto my lapel, and rewires my entire existence. You think I’m going to let anyone touch her? You don’t know me at all, Selene.”

Selene stared at him, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through her defensive walls. She saw the heavy, unbearable burden he carried—not just as a syndicate boss, but as a man who had lost his family piece by piece.

Before she could speak, the interior comms panel beside the bed hissed to life with a sharp, ear-piercing shriek.

Mrs. Thornbury’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and terrified.