LET HER MAKE THE TOAST. SHE KNOWS WHAT TO SAY.” MY MAFIA HUSBAND HANDED HIS MISTRESS THE CHAMPAGNE AT OUR FIFTEENTH ANNIVERSARY DINNER—BUT HIS 78-YEAR-OLD MOTHER ASKED

The flight to Italy was a blur of terror and adrenaline.

I didn't sleep. I stared at the passport of Elena Ricci, the woman who had been raising my son. Roman hadn't just faked my baby's death; he had handed him over to his secret, exiled first wife.

When I landed in Naples, the Mediterranean sun was blinding.

I rented a small car with the cash Teresa had given me and drove straight to St. Jude’s Academy. It was an elite, fortress-like boarding school nestled in the cliffs overlooking the sea.

I parked down the street and waited.

At 3:00 PM, the heavy iron gates opened. Students in crisp navy uniforms began pouring out.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I scanned the faces, searching for the boy in the locket.

Then, I saw him.

He was walking alone, carrying a heavy backpack. He had Roman’s dark, curly hair, but the shape of his face, his green eyes... he was mine. Every instinct in my body screamed to run to him, to pull him into my arms.

But before I could move, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the curb.

A woman stepped out.

She was in her late forties, elegant but severe. She had dark hair and green eyes. She looked like an older, colder version of me.

Elena Ricci.

“Leo,” she called out in Italian.

The boy smiled and walked toward her. He didn't look like a captive. He looked like a son greeting his mother.

“Ciao, Mamma,” Leo said, hugging her.

My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Mamma. He thought she was his mother.

I couldn't confront her here. If she alerted Roman's men in Italy, I would lose him forever.

I followed their car.

They drove to a beautiful villa overlooking the Amalfi coast. I waited until the sun set and the house grew quiet.

I slipped through the back garden gate, bypassing the simple security lock. I had lived in a mafia compound for fifteen years; I knew how to move without being heard.

I found the back patio door unlocked. I stepped inside the dark kitchen.

“I knew you would come eventually.”

I froze.

The kitchen lights flicked on.

Elena Ricci was sitting at the marble island, holding a cup of tea. Beside her cup was a loaded revolver.

“Elena,” I breathed.

She looked at me, studying my face.

“You look just like I did when Roman married me,” she said bitterly. “He has a very specific type for his victims.”

“Where is my son?” I asked, taking a step forward.

Elena placed her hand on the gun. “He is asleep. And he is my son now, Nora. I have raised him for fourteen years.”

“You knew he was stolen!” I cried. “You knew Roman faked his death and left me grieving!”

“Roman told me you didn't want him,” Elena fired back, her eyes flashing. “Roman told me you tried to terminate the pregnancy, so he took the boy to protect him. He gave him to me as an apology for locking me in that facility for five years.”

I stared at her in horror.

“He lied to you,” I whispered, tears spilling down my face. “I wanted my baby more than I wanted to breathe. Roman took him to control me. Just like he controlled you.”

Elena's hand trembled on the gun. She looked at the devastation in my eyes, and for the first time, doubt crossed her face.

But before she could speak, the front door of the villa exploded inward.