By the time I aimed my gun at the young maid holding my dying son against her bare chest, Leo had already done what twenty doctors, three private clinics, and millions of dollars could not make him do.

The safehouse in the Catskills was a rustic, heavily fortified cabin tucked deep into the pine forests, surrounded by miles of private property. It was the only place where the ghosts of my past couldn't reach us.

For the first three days, the cabin became a sanctuary of quiet recovery.

Leo’s transformation was nothing short of miraculous. Without the poison in his system, and with the nourishment of Hunter's milk, his body began to heal rapidly. The hollow spaces in his cheeks filled out, and his skin took on a healthy, rosy glow. He began to smile—a tiny, gummy grin that made my chest ache with a sweetness I had never known.

But while Leo healed, Hunter was struggling.

The physical toll of nursing a baby, combined with the trauma of her recent loss and the terror of our escape, had exhausted her. One evening, I found her sitting on the porch, looking out over the misty mountains, tears silent on her face.

"Hunter," I said gently, stepping out with two mugs of hot tea. I handed one to her and sat on the wooden bench beside her.

She wiped her eyes quickly, trying to pull herself together. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rossi. I didn't mean to be weak. It’s just... seeing him thrive, seeing him grow so fast... it makes me think of what I lost. I should be holding my Lily right now."

I looked at my hands, rough and scarred from a life of violence. "I spent the last two months wishing I had died in that car with Sophia," I said softly. "I thought the only way to honor her memory was to destroy everything and everyone responsible. But looking at Leo... and looking at you... I realize that survival isn't a betrayal of the dead. It’s the only way to keep them alive."

She looked at me, her tear-filled eyes searching mine. "Do you think they know? Sophia and Lily? Wherever they are, do you think they see us?"

"I think Sophia would have loved you," I said sincerely. "She was a woman of fierce grace. She would have kissed your hands for saving our boy."

A soft, genuine smile broke through Hunter's tears. It was the first time I had seen her truly smile, and it warmed the cold spaces of my heart in a way I couldn't explain.

"Mr. Rossi—"

"Lorenzo," I corrected her. "We've survived a firefight and a poisoned nursery together. I think we're past 'Mr. Rossi.'"

"Lorenzo," she repeated, the name sounding soft and natural on her lips.

Before we could speak further, the door of the cabin opened, and Marco stepped out, his face grim. He held a satellite phone in his hand.

"Boss," he said. "We have a problem. Victor is making his move. He’s called a meeting of the High Commission for tomorrow night in Manhattan. He’s going to declare you dead and claim the Rossi chair. If he succeeds, the entire family structure will back him, and we will be hunted for the rest of our lives."