The feared crime lord held a $40 million conference while my baby daughter sat on his marble floor, tugging at his silk tie.

"He died?" Alessandro breathed, his dark eyes locking onto Elena’s face with a fierce, suffocating intensity.

"Yes," Elena whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning. "Two months before she was born."

Alessandro slowly turned the small silver pendant over between his two fingers, exposing the flat, polished silver backing of the shield.

engraved deep into the metal was a tiny, intricate detail—a specific set of hand-penciled initials, a date, and a microscopic family seal that had only ever been stamped onto three private heirlooms in the entire history of the Duca bloodline.

The camera, positioned over Alessandro’s broad shoulder, captured the gleaming back of the pendant, but the specific detail remained strictly hidden from view.

The moment Alessandro’s eyes read that tiny detail, the color completely drained from his face. His skin turned a sickly, pale grey. His hand, usually steady enough to pull a trigger without a tremor, shook uncontrollably.

He let the pendant drop gently back against Mia’s pink dress.

Slowly—deliberately—Alessandro shifted his gaze away from the silver necklace and looked directly down at ten-month-old Mia. He looked at the soft shape of her brow, the unique light-brown tint of her hair, and the distinct, subtle curve of her jawline.

As if a veil had suddenly been ripped away from his eyes, the child’s face took on an entirely new, terrifying meaning. She was not just a maid's child. She was the living breath of a ghost he had mourned for over a year.

Alessandro slowly raised his dark, tear-rimmed eyes toward Elena.