My mafia boss husband's mistress had destroyed my marriage. My pregnant sister had threatened my son. And now, in the darkness of our mansion, a woman was telling me that my mother was still alive.

“Drop the folder, Evelyn,” Rose ordered, her hands remarkably steady for a nurse.

I clutched the birth certificate to my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs.

On the television behind me, my father was still stroking Anthony’s hair, his eyes dead and unfeeling. My son was sobbing, calling out for me.

“Rose, please,” my mother begged, stepping between me and the gun. “You helped me hide for three years. You know what he’ll do to her.”

“I helped you hide because he told me to,” Rose said coldly.

The betrayal hit me like a physical blow.

“You’ve been working for him this whole time?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“He needed to know you were docile, Evelyn,” Rose replied, taking a step closer. “He needed to make sure you didn’t try to find out the truth about Claire. But now that Dominic has taken the boy, the game has changed.”

“Dominic didn’t take Anthony,” I said, pointing at the TV screen. “My father has him!”

Rose laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.

“Your father doesn’t have the boy, Evelyn. That video is a recording from two hours ago. Dominic and Claire ambushed the safe house. They took the boy from your father.”

My blood ran ice cold.

Claire had double-crossed my father?

“Give me the documents,” Rose demanded, cocking the hammer of the pistol. “Your father needs them to prove Claire’s true bloodline to the Commission. If they find out she’s a Moretti, they’ll execute her for treason.”

“I’m not giving you anything until I have my son!” I yelled.

Before Rose could reply, the front door of the small suburban house exploded inward.

Wood splinters rained across the living room.

A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the porch light. He was covered in blood, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side, his white dress shirt soaked in dark crimson.

Vincent.

Rose swung the gun toward him.

But Vincent was faster.

Even bleeding to death, a mafia boss is still a killer. He raised his right hand and fired two shots.

Rose collapsed to the floor, her eyes wide, the gun sliding across the hardwood.

My mother screamed, covering her ears.

Vincent staggered into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He leaned heavily against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, gasping for air.

“Vincent!” I ran to him, dropping to my knees.

His face was pale, sweating profusely. A bullet had torn through his shoulder, and another had grazed his ribs.

“Evelyn,” he choked out, reaching for my hand. His fingers were freezing. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Where is Anthony?” I demanded, pressing my hands against his bleeding shoulder to apply pressure. “Vincent, where is my baby?”

“Claire… she took him to the old cabin by the lake,” Vincent rasped, coughing up a speck of blood. “Dominic shot me. Left me for dead in the garage.”

“Why would Claire do this?” I cried, tears blinding me. “You gave her everything! You married her!”

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut in agony.

“I didn’t marry her because I loved her, Evie,” he whispered. “I married her to keep her close. I knew she was stealing from the syndicate. I knew she was sleeping with Dominic. I was trying to build a case to show the Commission without your father finding out.”

“My father knows everything,” I sobbed. “Vincent, he knows Claire is your half-sister.”

Vincent’s eyes snapped open. The pain in his face was momentarily eclipsed by pure shock.

“My… my what?”

“She’s Alberto’s daughter,” I said, holding up the blood-stained folder. “My father adopted her to control your family.”

Vincent stared at the documents, his breathing turning ragged.

For seven years, he had been sleeping with a woman he thought was just a greedy mistress. He had destroyed our marriage, broken my heart, and lived a lie, all to protect his empire from a woman who shared his own blood.

“The baby,” Vincent whispered, his eyes filling with a horror I had never seen in him before. “Evelyn… the baby she’s carrying.”

“Mom said it isn’t yours,” I replied. “It’s Dominic’s.”

Vincent shook his head violently.

“No. It’s not Dominic’s.”

He reached into his blood-soaked pocket with a trembling hand.

He pulled out a heavy, antique gold pocket watch. The glass face was shattered, the gold casing smeared with his blood.

Broken antique gold pocket watch. Nguồn: zim286 / Getty Images

“Dominic dropped this when he shot me,” Vincent choked out. “Open it.”

My hands shook as I pried the broken gold casing open.

Inside the watch wasn’t a clock face.

It was a tiny, faded photograph of a young woman.

A woman who looked exactly like my mother.

And engraved on the inside cover, in elegant script, were the words: To my only son, Dominic.

I stopped breathing.

I looked up at my mother, who had gone completely pale, her hands covering her mouth in sheer terror.

“Mom?” I whispered.

Vincent gripped my wrist, his strength fading fast.

“Dominic isn’t just a soldier, Evelyn,” Vincent rasped. “He’s your father’s son. From his first marriage. Dominic is your half-brother.”

The room spun violently.

Claire was Vincent’s half-sister.

Dominic was my half-brother.

And Claire was pregnant with Dominic's child.

“They aren’t just stealing the syndicate,” Vincent whispered, his eyes rolling back in his head. “They’re trying to breed the ultimate heir. A child with both Moretti and Bennett blood.”

Vincent’s head slumped forward, and he went completely still.

“Vincent!” I screamed.

But before I could check his pulse, the shattered front door was kicked open again.