My mafia boss husband finally admitted why he married me seventeen years ago.

A profound, sickening silence swallowed the chapel.

Even the hardened SWAT officers seemed to freeze, processing the horrific weight of Claire's words.

I stared at my younger sister, my mind violently rejecting what she had just said. I looked from her swollen belly to my father, who was still bleeding on the marble floor.

"You're lying," I whispered, stepping backward. "Claire, tell me you're lying."

Claire burst into hysterical sobs, dropping to her knees. "I had to! He made me, Evelyn! He said if you wouldn't give him another heir, I had to!"

My mother let out a guttural, animalistic scream. She pointed her gun directly at Richard's head, no longer aiming for his leg.

"Margaret, don't!" Celeste yelled, lunging forward.

But my mother didn't pull the trigger. She dropped the gun, collapsing to the floor, her hands tearing at her own hair in absolute despair. "My baby. My little girl. What did he do to you?"

Richard leaned against the altar, his face contorted in pain but his eyes gleaming with a sick, unrepentant pride.

"The Moretti line was weak," Richard spat, glaring at Vincent's blood on the floor. "Vincent gave me one boy, then refused to give me more. A syndicate cannot survive on a single heir. I needed insurance."

Anthony looked physically ill. He stumbled backward, bumping into a pew, gasping for air. "You're a monster."

"I am a survivor!" Richard roared, wincing as the movement aggravated his gunshot wound. "I built this empire from nothing! And I will secure its future by any means necessary!"

Matteo Lucchese, the New York boss, actually looked disgusted. He adjusted his silk cuffs and took a step away from Richard.

"You Chicago animals," Matteo sneered. "We may be criminals, Richard, but we have codes. You are an absolute disgrace."

Matteo turned to me. "Evelyn, take the boy. We will deal with this filth. You have my word as a Lucchese, no one from New York will hunt you."

It was a staggering reversal. The man who had come to kidnap my son was now offering us safe passage, repulsed by my father's depravity.

Captain Donovan grabbed Claire by the arm, hauling her up. "Let's go. Medics, get the old man. He's under arrest for conspiracy."

As the paramedics loaded my cursing father onto a stretcher, I rushed over to my mother.

"Mom, get up," I pleaded, pulling her by the shoulders. "We have to go."

Margaret looked at me with hollow, broken eyes. "I failed you both. I couldn't protect you."

"You shot him," Anthony said quietly, stepping up beside me and offering his grandmother a hand. "You protected us today."

Margaret took Anthony's hand, weeping as he pulled her to her feet.

"Mrs. Moretti," Celeste said, touching my arm. "The safe house. Go now. My agents will escort you."

I squeezed the velvet box containing the SD card in my pocket. "What about Vincent?"

"I'll stay with him at the hospital," Celeste promised. "He's strong, Evelyn. He’ll make it."

I nodded, grabbing Anthony's hand, and we followed the tactical team out the side doors of the chapel into the cold Chicago night.

The ride to the safe house was a blur of flashing streetlights and deafening silence. My mother stared blankly out the window. Anthony sat rigidly beside me, his jaw locked tight.

The safe house was a modest, unassuming brick bungalow in the suburbs. The federal agents secured the perimeter and left us inside.

I locked the deadbolt and leaned against the door, finally letting out a breath I felt I’d been holding for seventeen years.

"We're safe," I whispered into the quiet house.

Anthony walked into the small kitchen and sat heavily at the table. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the Formica counter.

It was a heavy, tarnished gold pocket watch.

I recognized it instantly. It belonged to my father.

"Anthony," I asked nervously, walking toward him. "Where did you get that?"

"He dropped it when grandma shot him," Anthony said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I picked it up before the cops grabbed him."

"Why?"

Anthony popped the latch on the watch. It clicked open, revealing the intricate gears inside.

"Because Grandpa always said this watch was his most prized possession," Anthony said, looking up at me. "But he never checked the time on it."

He flipped the watch over and pressed a tiny, hidden button near the hinge.

The back casing popped off.

Tucked neatly inside the hollowed-out metal was a tightly folded, yellowed piece of paper.

Anthony pulled it out and unfolded it.

He read it once. Then again.