DON’T EMBARRASS YOURSELF, SWEETHEART. YOUR HUSBAND HAS ALREADY CHOSEN ME.” THE MAFIA BOSS’S MISTRESS SAID IT IN FRONT OF 140 GUESTS AT HIS DAUGHTER’S ENGAGEMENT DINNER—B

The Chicago shipping yards were a maze of rusted metal containers, massive cranes, and abandoned brick warehouses. It was desolate, cold, and smelled of diesel fuel and lake water.

Frank skidded the sedan to a halt near Pier 4.

The FBI tactical units were five minutes behind us. We didn't have time to wait.

"There," Frank pointed.

Parked outside Warehouse 7 was a sleek black Mercedes. Antonio's car. And parked right behind it was Vincent's SUV.

I threw the car door open and ran toward the warehouse. Frank grabbed his registered handgun from the glove compartment and chased after me.

"Evelyn, wait!" Frank yelled.

I didn't listen. I reached the heavy metal side door of the warehouse and pulled it open.

Inside, the massive space was dimly lit by a few overhead industrial lights.

And in the center of the concrete floor, surrounded by wooden crates, a nightmare was unfolding.

Antonio, a frail but terrifying man in his seventies, was pointing a gun at Vincent.

Vincent was standing between Antonio and a small, terrified figure huddled on the ground.

Caterina.

And in Caterina's arms, wrapped tightly in a blue blanket, was the baby.

"Give me the child, Vincent," Antonio wheezed, his gun aimed squarely at my husband's chest. "It carries David's blood. It belongs to the family."

"It's not David's child," Vincent said, his voice surprisingly steady. "It belongs to Anna."

"You sold your daughter to me!" Antonio barked. "The deal is done!"

"The deal is broken," Vincent said. He reached into his coat.

Antonio immediately fired.

The gunshot deafened the warehouse.

Vincent staggered backward, clutching his stomach. Blood bloomed across his white shirt. He fell to his knees.

"Vincent!" I screamed, running out from behind the crates.

Antonio whipped around, aiming the gun at me.

Before he could pull the trigger, Frank stepped out of the shadows and fired twice.

Antonio dropped his weapon, his knees buckling, and collapsed onto the concrete, dead before he hit the ground.

The warehouse went dead silent, save for the crying of the infant in Caterina's arms.

I ran to Vincent, dropping to my knees beside him. I pressed my hands against his bleeding stomach.

"Evie," Vincent gasped, his face pale, his breath ragged.

"Hold still," I cried, tears streaming down my face. I hated him for what he did to Serena, to Anna, to all of us. But seeing him dying on the cold floor tore something open inside me.

"I tried to fix it," Vincent whispered, coughing up blood. "I couldn't let him take the boy."

"Why did you lie about Serena?" I asked, weeping. "Vincent, why?"

Vincent looked up at the ceiling, his eyes losing focus.

"I was young," he choked out. "Antonio had the annulment... I wanted you, Evie. I loved you. I was terrified you would leave me if you knew I had a child."

He reached up with a bloody, shaking hand and touched my cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

His hand fell away.

Vincent’s chest stopped moving. His eyes fixed on the empty air.

He was gone.

I knelt there for a long time, the sirens of the arriving FBI vehicles wailing in the distance, washing the warehouse walls in flashing red and blue lights.

Caterina slowly walked over to me.

She knelt down and gently placed the bundled blue blanket into my arms.

I looked down at the tiny, sleeping face of my grandson.

He was beautiful. Perfect. And completely safe.