My six-year-old nephew crawled to my door with a broken leg while his three-year-old sister clung to his shirt, sobbing

Leo came out of surgery at three in the morning. The doctors had placed a pin in his femur and encased his left leg in a heavy fiberglass cast stretching from his hip to his toes. When he woke up from the anesthesia, his eyes were wide with panic. He thrashed against the restraints the nurses had placed on his arms to keep him from pulling out his IVs.

"Maya! Where is Maya?" he screamed, his small voice cracking with hysteria.

I swept into the room, pushing past the startled nurses. "Leo! Leo, look at me!"

I grabbed his hands, holding them gently but firmly. The moment his tear-filled eyes locked onto mine, his hyperventilating slowed.

"Uncle Thomas..." he sobbed. "Is she gone? Did Mommy take her?"

"She's right here, buddy," I said, gesturing to the nurse who had rolled Maya's crib into the room. Maya was awake now, clutching a stuffed bear one of my men had bought from the hospital gift shop.

Leo let out a long, shuddering breath, his chest heaving. "She... she hit Maya because Maya dropped a cup of water. I tried to shield her, Uncle Thomas. I tried to be big like Daddy."

I sat down on the side of his bed, ignoring the medical monitors beeping around us. I took my nephew's small, bruised hand in mine. "You were big, Leo. You saved your sister. You carried her half a mile on a broken leg. That makes you the bravest boy I have ever known. But you don't have to carry her alone anymore. That's my job now."

Leo looked at his cast, then up at me. "Can we stay with you? Forever?"

"Forever," I promised. "No one is ever taking you away."

By dawn, my private security team—former Special Forces operatives on my payroll—arrived at the hospital. They secured the entire floor. No one entered or left without clearance from my head of security, Frank Castle.

With the children safe under Frank's watch, I left the hospital and drove to the Moretti estate in the hills of Westlake. The estate was a fortress: ten-acre perimeter, iron gates, bulletproof glass, and thirty armed men stationed throughout the grounds. It was a place designed to keep the world out. Now, it was going to be a home for two traumatized children.

Arthur met me in the study. The room was lined with leather-bound books and mahogany furniture. On the desk lay three thick folders.

"The legal team has been working through the night," Arthur said, placing the files before me. "We've filed an emergency ex parte motion with Judge Callahan for temporary custody and protective orders. Given the criminal charges being drafted against Rebecca, the judge will grant full temporary custody to you within the hour."

"And the permanent custody?"

"That will take a trial. CPS is obligated to conduct a home evaluation. A social worker named Sarah Jenkins has been assigned to the case. She's tough, Thomas. Uncorruptible. She doesn't care about money or mafia reputations; she only cares about child welfare. If she decides your lifestyle is hazardous to the children, she will fight you in court."

"Let her evaluate," I said. "Prepare the east wing of the house. I want a nursery built for Maya and a full bedroom set up for Leo. Hire the best pediatric nurses, tutors, and child psychologists in the state. I want this home turned into a sanctuary."

"And what about Rebecca?" Arthur asked quietly.

I looked at my watch. "Where is she?"

"Marco tracked her to an abandoned airstrip near San Marcos. She was trying to board a private charter flight to Mexico. The flight was booked and paid for by Liam O'Connor's lieutenant."

"Is she secured?"

"She's in the basement of the river warehouse. Marco is waiting for you."

I stood up, adjusting my cuffs. "Call Sarah Jenkins. Tell her she can inspect the estate tomorrow afternoon. As for me, I have family business to attend to."

Twenty minutes later, my black SUV pulled up outside the river warehouse—a sprawling, unmarked industrial site owned by one of my shell companies. The air inside smelled of rust, river mud, and damp concrete.

I walked into the center room. A single overhead light illuminated a wooden chair anchored to the floor. Bound to it with thick zip-ties was Rebecca.

Her hair was disheveled, her mascara smeared down her pale cheeks. Her expensive designer dress was torn and stained. When she saw me walk out of the shadows, her eyes widened in terror.

"Thomas!" she shrieked. "Thomas, please! You have to listen to me! I was kidnapped! Men came to the house—"

I didn't say a word. I pulled up a metal folding chair, set it three feet in front of her, and sat down. I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at her.

The silence in the room grew heavy, suffocating. Rebecca's frantic excuses died in her throat as she looked into my eyes. She knew what I was. She had known when she married Ethan. Ethan had tried to keep her away from me, but she knew the source of the Moretti wealth.

"Three weeks, Rebecca," I said softly.

"Thomas, I... I was stressed... Ethan died, and I was overwhelmed—"

"Three weeks," I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You broke a six-year-old boy's leg and left him in the dark without medical care for three weeks. You starved a three-year-old girl until she was so weak she couldn't stand."

"It wasn't like that!" she sobbed. "Leo fell down the stairs! He was being disobedient! I locked them in the basement just to calm them down, and then... then I got scared! I knew how it looked! I knew you'd kill me if you found out!"

"You're right," I said calmly. "I would have."

She began to hyperventilate. "Please... please don't kill me. I'll give you everything! The insurance money, Ethan's house, the shares! I'll surrender all parental rights! You can keep the kids! Just let me leave! I'll go to Europe, you'll never see me again!"

"You think this is about money?" I asked, tilting my head. "You think I care about Ethan's trust fund?"

I stood up and pulled a thick manila envelope from my coat pocket. I dropped it onto her lap.

"In that envelope are full confessions, bank records detailing your transfers to Liam O'Connor, and photographs of Leo's X-rays," I said. "You aren't going to Mexico, Rebecca. And you aren't going to die in this warehouse. Dying here is too easy. It gives you an escape."

She blinked through her tears, confused. "You're... you're not going to kill me?"

"If I kill you, my brother's spirit will never rest. And if my nephew ever grows up and finds out I murdered his stepmother, he will carry that darkness with him forever," I said. "So I am giving you to the law."

She let out a gasp of relief, but I leaned in close, my face inches from hers.

"Do not mistake this for mercy," I whispered. "The district attorney is an old friend of mine. He is filing charges of aggravated child endangerment, first-degree torture, and attempted murder. You will be convicted. You will go to Gatesville Maximum Security Prison. And I own the people who run that prison. Every day of your thirty-year sentence, you will wake up in a small, dark room. You will eat slop. You will have no friends, no visitors, and no light. You will live the exact life you forced upon my brother's children."

I turned my back on her and walked toward the exit.

"Marco," I called out.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Deliver her to the front steps of the Austin Police Department. Make sure the local news crews are waiting."

"Consider it done."

As I stepped out into the cool morning air, Arthur was waiting by the car, holding a secure phone.

"Thomas," Arthur said, his expression grim. "Liam O'Connor just called my line. He knows we intercepted Rebecca. He wants a meeting."

"Where?"