A feared Atlanta mob boss hadn't smiled in twenty years, until a poor single mom fell asleep holding his hand after saving his life.

As if sensing the intense emotional energy vibrating through the room, Megan shifted in the leather chair.

Her eyelids fluttered open. She blinked against the pale pre-dawn light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, rubbing her tired eyes with her hand.

She immediately sat up, her instincts as a mother and caregiver instantly kicking in. She looked toward the bed to check Dominic's fever.

"Dominic?" Megan murmured softly, her voice raspy from sleep. She reached her hand out toward his forehead to feel his temperature. "Are you alright? Did the fever come back?"

Dominic didn't move. He sat rigid in bed, holding the blue file in his lap, staring at her with an intensity so profound that Megan’s hand froze inches from his face.

Megan frowned, sensing the drastic change in the atmosphere. She looked at Nancy standing silently beside the bed, then down at the file resting in Dominic's hands.

"What's wrong?" Megan asked, her voice dropping into a cautious, defensive tone. "Did something happen?"

Beside her, little Leo let out a soft whine, stretching his tiny arms out from beneath the faded yellow blanket. He rubbed his small eyes, opening them to reveal deep, dark brown eyes that were an exact, unmistakable replica of Dominic’s own eyes—and Julian’s before him.