YOU DON'T OWN THE NAME JUST BECAUSE YOUR BABY NEVER GOT TO USE IT.

The silicon prosthetic sat on the glass coffee table, mocking me.

For seven months, Dominic had rubbed my feet while I watched him treat this woman like fragile glass. I had endured the humiliation of his public betrayal because I believed a child was involved.

There was no child.

There never had been.

"You faked a pregnancy," I said, my voice eerily calm despite the violent pounding of my heart.

Vanessa took a slow drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke toward the crystal chandelier. "Men are incredibly stupid, Margaret. Especially aging mafia bosses desperate for a legacy. Tell a man he's going to have a son, and he'll sign over the deed to his soul."

"He thought you were having a girl," I corrected coldly. "He thought you were having Charlotte."

Vanessa laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Oh, that was just to torture you. I wanted to see how much you would take before you broke. And you took it all, didn't you? Like a good, obedient little mafia wife."

She stood up, tying her silk robe tighter around her waist. She was thin. Perfectly, aggressively thin.

"Where is my husband?" I demanded.

"Dominic is currently at his lawyer's office downtown," Vanessa smiled, walking slowly toward me. "He's signing the final paperwork. He's transferring forty percent of his waterfront holdings into a trust fund for his 'unborn child'. A trust fund that I control as the mother."

My mind raced. Carlo Bellini had been Dominic's biggest rival before his mysterious death twenty years ago. Now, Carlo's daughter had infiltrated Dominic's home, faked a pregnancy, and was legally stealing half his empire.

"He'll kill you when he finds out," I said. "Dominic doesn't forgive theft."

"He won't find out until it's too late," Vanessa countered, stopping three feet away from me. "Because by tomorrow morning, I'll be having a tragic, unexpected miscarriage. Dominic will be so blinded by grief—again—that he won't notice the money has been moved to offshore accounts."

I stared at her. The sheer, sociopathic cruelty of her plan was breathtaking.

But I didn't care about the money. I didn't care about Dominic's waterfront properties.

"Where is she?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Vanessa feigned confusion. "Where is who?"

"My daughter. Charlotte."

Vanessa's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. "Your daughter died in a hospital twenty-three years ago, Margaret. You should really seek psychiatric help. This delusion is getting pathetic."

"Don't lie to me!" I shouted, taking a step forward. "I saw the empty casket! I saw the note from the pawn shop! Ten years ago, a woman with my face sold my rosary and said she was running from your father's men. You know she's alive. That's why you tore apart her nursery. You were looking for something she hid!"

Vanessa's eyes went cold. Dead cold.

"You're smarter than you look," she hissed. "Yes. We tore the nursery apart. Because twenty-three years ago, the nurse who was supposed to poison your baby lost her nerve. She smuggled the brat out of the hospital and faked the death to collect my father's bounty."

My breath hitched. Charlotte was alive.

"My father found out a decade later," Vanessa continued, pacing around the coffee table. "He hunted the nurse down. But your little brat managed to escape. She broke into this house ten years ago while you and Dominic were in Italy. She was looking for money to run."

"And she hid the watch," I breathed, realizing the truth. "She found the pocket watch with the deposit slip. She hid it in the vent, knowing one day I would find it."

"She was a clever little rat," Vanessa spat. "But clever rats still get caught."

I froze.

"What did you do to her?" I whispered, my blood turning to ice.

Vanessa stopped pacing. She looked at me, a victorious, cruel gleam in her eyes.

"I didn't do anything," Vanessa smiled. "My men caught her at the bus station ten years ago. We didn't kill her, Margaret. We knew she was too valuable as leverage against Dominic."

"Where is she?" I screamed, lunging forward.

I grabbed Vanessa by the collar of her silk robe, shoving her hard against the wall. I had never struck a person in my life, but in that moment, I wanted to tear her throat out.

"Where is my baby?!"

Vanessa gasped for air, but she didn't look scared. She looked amused.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, heavy iron key.

"She's exactly where she's been for the last ten years," Vanessa choked out, smiling through her teeth. "Underneath us."

My hands went slack. I let go of her robe, backing away in horror.

"The old wine cellar," Vanessa whispered, rubbing her neck. "The one Dominic bricked up fifteen years ago because he said it flooded."

I didn't wait another second.

I turned and sprinted toward the kitchen, my heels slipping on the polished marble. I threw open the heavy door leading to the basement stairs and plunged into the darkness.

The basement was a labyrinth of storage boxes and ancient brick walls. I ran toward the east wall, the area Dominic had sealed off with heavy iron doors years ago.

I reached the rusted iron door. There was a heavy padlock securing it.

I grabbed a hammer from a nearby workbench and smashed it against the padlock. Once. Twice. The metal shattered.

I threw my weight against the heavy iron door, pushing it open.

The stench of damp earth and stale air hit me instantly.

I reached blindly for the pull-string light switch, my fingers trembling. The single bulb flickered to life, casting harsh yellow light over the small, brick room.

There was a small cot in the corner. A bucket. A stack of old books.

And huddled on the cot, shielding her eyes from the sudden light, was a young woman with blonde hair.

She slowly lowered her hands and looked at me.