The driver slammed the accelerator.
Our car shot forward.
I pressed myself over Leo’s carrier while Lorenzo leaned across us.
“Stay down.”
Another impact struck the rear of the vehicle.
Leo screamed.
My entire body reacted.
“Get away from him!”
As if the men outside could hear me.
Lorenzo looked at Marco.
“Lose them.”
“We’re trying.”
The road curved.
Our car cut through a service entrance near the airport.
Security vehicles appeared ahead.
The SUVs behind us suddenly slowed.
One turned.
The other kept coming.
Then police lights appeared from the opposite direction.
The remaining SUV peeled away.
I sat up slowly.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo looked at Marco.
“You called the police?”
Marco shrugged.
“I called people who call the police.”
I almost laughed despite everything.
Leo kept crying.
I lifted him.
“It’s okay.”
My hands shook so hard I could barely hold him.
Lorenzo touched my shoulder.
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?”
A piece of glass had cut my forehead.
“It’s nothing.”
He took out a handkerchief and pressed it gently against the cut.
For one second, our eyes met.
Everything else disappeared.
Then Leo cried louder.
I laughed shakily.
“He has timing.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
We changed vehicles and reached the airport under heavier security.
Hours later, we landed in Canada.
The house on Prince Edward Island was small.
White siding.
Blue shutters.
A garden.
It looked so ordinary that Lorenzo stood staring at it for several seconds.
“This is where my son has been.”
I touched his arm.
“Alive.”
He nodded.
We walked to the door.
A woman answered.
She saw Lorenzo.
Then Leo.
Then me.
Her face collapsed.
“Oh God.”
Lorenzo’s voice became quiet.
“Are you Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Her husband appeared behind her holding a baby.
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
The baby looked toward him.
Dark eyes.
Sophia’s eyes.
Lorenzo’s knees almost buckled.
I had never expected to see a man like him cry.
But he did.
Silently.
Margaret handed the baby over.
Lorenzo held him against his chest.
“Hello.”
His voice broke.
“I’m your father.”
I turned away because the moment felt too private.
Then Margaret said something that surprised all of us.
“His name is Matteo.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“Who named him?”
“We did.”
He smiled through tears.
“Matteo.”
Leo made a noise from my arms.
Lorenzo looked at him.
Then at Matteo.
For the first time, both babies were in the same room.
The child Lorenzo believed was his.
And the child who actually was.
But it didn’t feel like replacement.
It felt like reunion.
We stayed two days.
DNA confirmed Matteo was Lorenzo and Sophia’s son.
Margaret and her husband were devastated to learn the truth.
They had genuinely believed Sophia arranged everything to protect the baby from danger.
Lorenzo didn’t punish them.
That surprised everyone.
Especially Marco.
“They loved him,” Lorenzo said.
“That doesn’t make what happened legal.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“They loved him.”
That was enough.
Back on Long Island, Anthony was found.
Not by Lorenzo.
By federal agents.
Vivian had turned over evidence.
Financial records.
Messages.
Proof of the bombing plot.
Proof of the hospital conspiracy.
Proof tying Anthony to multiple crimes.
For once, Lorenzo allowed the law to handle something.
“I want him alive,” he told me.
“Why?”
“So he wakes up every morning knowing he failed.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Evelyn accepted a deal in exchange for testimony.
Vivian also cooperated.
I didn’t forgive either woman.
Forgiveness wasn’t a switch.
Maybe one day.
Maybe never.
But they helped us understand what happened.
And because of them, both babies were alive.
The Rossi mansion changed after Matteo came home.
It became louder.
Messier.
Less frightening.
There were bottles everywhere.
Blankets on expensive furniture.
Two cribs in the nursery.
Lorenzo hired additional nurses.
Leo continued nursing and gradually gained weight.
Within two months, his cheeks filled out.
His cry became powerful.
Almost obnoxiously powerful.
I loved every second of it.
One morning, a pediatrician placed Leo on the scale and smiled.
“Eleven pounds.”
I covered my mouth.
Lorenzo looked at me.
“He did it.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“We did.”
The words surprised both of us.
Our relationship had become impossible to define.
I was no longer a maid.
Lorenzo refused to let me work.
I refused to let him “support” me indefinitely.
So we compromised.
He helped me enroll in a nursing program.
“I can pay my own tuition.”
“I know.”
“Then why did the school tell me everything was covered?”
He looked innocent.
“I donated to the program.”
“You are impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I moved into a guest suite near the nursery.
Temporary, I kept telling myself.
Then temporary became months.
Lorenzo changed too.
He started spending less time with the business that had made his name frightening.
He sold several interests.
Moved others into legitimate companies.
Marco said nobody believed it.
I did.
One night, after putting the babies down, I found Lorenzo outside.
He was sitting on the terrace.
No guards nearby.
No suit.
Just a dark sweater and exhaustion.
I sat beside him.
“Matteo smiled at me today.”
“He smiles at everyone.”
“That feels less special.”
“It should.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
I had rarely heard it.
We sat quietly.
Then he asked, “Do you hate me?”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“For being part of the world that did this to you.”
I thought carefully.
“I hated your name.”
“Reasonable.”
“I hated this house.”
“Also reasonable.”
“I hated every person who knew something I didn’t.”
His eyes lowered.
“But you?”
I paused.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I tried.”
That made him smile.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get comfortable.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Silence again.
Then he said, “I’m getting out.”
“Of what?”
“The organization.”
I stared at him.
“You can do that?”
“Not easily.”
“Why?”
He looked through the window toward the nursery.
“Because I have two sons now.”
My chest tightened.
“You still call Leo your son.”
Lorenzo looked surprised.
“Of course.”
“He isn’t biologically yours.”
“I don’t care.”
The answer came instantly.
I smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The thing that makes you his father.”
He looked at me.
Something passed between us.
Warm.
Dangerous in an entirely different way.
Lorenzo moved slightly closer.
Then stopped.
“Hunter.”
“Yes?”
“If I kiss you, are you going to slap me?”
“Probably.”
He smiled.
“Good to know.”
I waited.
He didn’t move.
That mattered.
After everything I had lost control over, Lorenzo waited for permission.
So I leaned forward.
And kissed him.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was gentle.
Almost uncertain.
Two people who had met because of tragedy deciding, for one moment, not to be ruled by it.
When we pulled apart, Lorenzo touched his forehead to mine.
“I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“You’re not subtle.”
“I terrify entire boardrooms.”
“You stare at me while I make bottles.”
He laughed.
Then a baby started crying upstairs.
We both looked toward the house.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Matteo.”
“How can you tell?”
“Mother thing.”
“Show-off.”
We went upstairs together.
Neither of us knew what our future looked like.
But for the first time, I wanted one.
Then Marco appeared at the top of the stairs.
His face was serious.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo sighed.
“What now?”
Marco held out an envelope.
“It was found behind the wall in Sophia’s old dressing room.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What?”
“During the security renovation.”
He took it.
Sophia’s handwriting covered the front.
To Lorenzo.
His hands trembled.
I touched his arm.
“Open it.”
Inside was a single key.
And a note.
Lorenzo read it silently.
His expression changed.
“What does it say?”
He looked at me.
“Sophia knew someone inside the family was betraying us.”
My stomach tightened.
“What else?”
“She left proof.”
“Where?”
Lorenzo held up the key.
“Under this house.”