The mafia boss thought his mansion was untouchable—until the maid’s eight-year-old daughter carried a newborn into dinner and whispered, “Sir, I found your son in the trash.”

That was all Celeste needed.

In the blackout, guards shouted. Owen slammed into the chapel door to block Celeste’s path. Marcus grabbed Lucia and pulled her behind him. Marisol screamed her daughter’s name. Somewhere in the corridor, glass broke again.

When the emergency lights flickered on, Celeste was gone.

So was Isabella.

And from the baby monitor came Dana Ellis’s voice:

“Marcus! Someone opened the cellar from the inside!”

Marcus ran.

The underground corridor seemed longer than it ever had. Emergency lights painted the walls red. Lucia tried to follow, but Marisol caught her this time and held on with both arms.

At the cellar entrance, two guards lay conscious but dazed.

“Gas,” one coughed. “From the vent.”

Marcus pushed past them.

Inside, Dana stood with a fireplace poker in one hand and blood at her temple. The bassinet was overturned.

Empty.

For one second, Marcus’s mind refused the image.

Empty.

Then a sound came from behind the wine racks.

A small cry.

Dana pointed.

“She couldn’t get him out. I locked the outer gate. She went into the old service tunnel.”

Marcus moved the racks aside.

Behind them, a narrow door stood open.

The tunnel beyond sloped upward toward the rear garden.

Owen arrived with men.

“No guns unless clear,” Marcus snapped. “The baby is in there.”

They entered the tunnel.

Marcus had not walked it since childhood. His father called it an escape passage. Valentina called it proof the house had never expected to be honest.

The baby cried again, faint but close.

Then Isabella’s voice echoed through the dark.

“Stop there.”

Marcus froze.

Twenty feet ahead, Isabella stood beneath a weak emergency bulb, holding Matteo against her chest. Celeste stood behind her, one red-gloved hand gripping Isabella’s shoulder.

The two women were no longer allies.

That was immediately clear.

Isabella’s hair had come loose. Her face was scratched. Matteo cried against her, furious and alive.

Celeste held a small blade near Isabella’s side.

“Family reunions are so exhausting,” Celeste said.

Marcus’s voice was low.

“Give me my son.”

Celeste smiled.

“Which one of us are you asking?”

Isabella’s eyes shone with panic.

For the first time, she looked fully afraid.

“She was going to take him,” Isabella said. “She was going to kill me.”

Celeste sighed.

“Isabel always thinks betrayal is unfair when someone else performs it.”

Marcus did not move closer.

Owen and the guards stood behind him, blocked by the narrow passage.

“What do you want?” Marcus asked Celeste.

“The ledger. Schedule B. All copies. And safe passage.”

“You already know Isabella has the original.”

Celeste pressed the blade slightly.

“Then ask her nicely.”

Isabella swallowed.

“I don’t have it here.”

Celeste’s eyes cooled.

“Liar.”

“I hid it before Valentina died.”

“Where?”

Isabella looked at Marcus.

Something desperate entered her face.

“If I tell you, she kills me.”

Marcus held her stare.

“If you do not tell me, she kills my son.”

Matteo cried harder.

The sound changed Isabella.

Not beautifully. Not morally. But physically.

Her arms tightened around him, not to harm him, but to keep him from slipping. She looked down at his small face. For a second, Marcus saw the war inside her: revenge against a bloodline, hatred of a dead father’s fate, envy of Valentina, terror of Celeste, and the unavoidable reality of a living child screaming against her heart.

Lucia’s voice suddenly sounded behind Marcus.

“The medal.”

Marcus turned.

Lucia had slipped into the tunnel despite Marisol’s efforts. She held up Valentina’s Saint Michael medal.

“Mrs. Falcone hid things in baby stuff,” Lucia said breathlessly. “The letter was in the cradle. Maybe the other paper is where the medal goes.”

Isabella stared at the medal.

Her face changed.

Celeste noticed.

“What does that mean?” Celeste snapped.

Marcus looked at Isabella.

“Where?”

Isabella’s lips trembled.

“Valentina’s chapel kneeler.”

Celeste cursed.

Isabella moved first.

Not away.

Toward Marcus.

She shoved Matteo forward with both arms.

“Take him!”

Celeste grabbed her hair.

Owen lunged.

Marcus caught the baby as the tunnel exploded into motion.

Isabella screamed. Celeste slashed at Owen and ran backward into the dark. Guards surged past Marcus. Matteo wailed in his arms, warm and alive and impossibly small.

Marcus held his son for the first time.

The world narrowed to the weight of him.

Then Isabella collapsed against the wall, bleeding from a shallow cut on her arm, laughing and crying at once.

“I saved him,” she gasped.