Storm Moretti didn't even look at me when he said those words. He stood holding a glass of bourbon while his attorney slid a contract across the desk toward me.

“That’s impossible,” Leo said, frowning with all the seriousness a six-year-old could muster. He crossed his tiny arms over his chest, mimicking a stance he must have seen me do a hundred times. “Mommy said my dad was an astronaut who lived on the moon. Astronauts don't wear expensive suits and stay in tall hotels.”

A choked sound escaped my throat—halfway between a laugh and a sob. I hurried over, scooping Leo up into my arms and pressing his face against my shoulder to hide my expression.

“An astronaut, Juliet?” Storm raised an eyebrow, a faint, dark shadow of amusement touching his lips as he stood up. “You couldn't come up with something a bit more grounded? Like a race car driver or a pirate?”

“He was little, Storm,” I snapped defensively, holding Leo tight against my chest. “What was I supposed to tell him? ‘Hey sweetie, your father is a terrifying mob-adjacent corporate titan who paid me five million dollars to walk away because he was too busy conquering New York to care about a family’? An astronaut sounded much safer.”

Storm’s smile faded. The air between us grew thick again, weighed down by the heavy ghost of our past.

Before he could respond, a discreet knock echoed at the double doors. Mrs. Gable reappeared, looking slightly apologetic.

“Mr. Moretti, the pediatrician you requested has arrived, along with... unexpected visitors.”

Storm’s eyes narrowed. “Visitors? I cleared the floor.”

“It’s Mr. Vance, sir,” Mrs. Gable said cautiously. “He bypassed the lobby security.”

At the mention of that name, the temperature in the room plummeted. Richard Vance—Storm’s primary rival in the New York corporate landscape, a man with deep, dirty ties to the old syndicate families and an endless appetite for ruining the Moretti empire.

“Bring him up,” Storm ordered, his voice dropping into the terrifying, icy tone he reserved for his deadliest enemies. He didn't even wait for Mrs. Gable to leave before turning his dark gaze to me. “Juliet. Take Leo into the private study down the hall. Stay there and lock the door.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, a cold knot forming in my stomach.

“Vance shouldn't know about you, and he certainly shouldn't know about my son,” Storm said, walking swiftly toward his desk where a hidden drawer clicked open, revealing the sleek black grip of a customized firearm. He checked the magazine with practiced, lethal efficiency before tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. “Go. Now.”

I didn't argue. The raw danger radiating from Storm was real, and my maternal instinct screamed at me to protect Leo. I grabbed my bag, picked up Leo—who was now looking around with wide-eyed excitement—and practically ran down the mahogany-paneled hallway.

I ducked into the study, slammed the heavy oak door, and threw the deadbolt.

The room was vast, lined with leather-bound books and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. I set Leo down on a plush velvet sofa and knelt in front of him, taking his small face in my hands.

“Listen to me, Leo,” I said, my voice trembling. “Mommy needs you to play quietly with your toys right here. Do not open this door for anyone, understand? No matter who knocks.”

“Is the mean man outside?” Leo asked, his big eyes reflecting my own terror.

“No, sweetie. Just... someone having a disagreement with the man in the suit,” I lied smoothly, forcing a shaky smile. I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen.

If Vance was here, it meant Storm’s security had been compromised from the inside. Or worse, someone had leaked the news about a woman and a child arriving at One Dalton.

Through the thick oak door, muffled shouts suddenly echoed down the hallway.

“You think you can hide a family from me, Moretti?” a harsh, gravelly voice rang out. “Word travels fast in this city. A woman and a kid walking into your penthouse? That’s not just a mistress, Storm. That’s a weakness.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I stood up slowly, creeping toward the door. I pressed my ear against the wood, straining to listen.

“Vance,” Storm’s voice came back, cold, calm, and dripping with venom. “You stepped foot on my floor without an invitation. That’s the last mistake you’ll ever make.”

“Try it,” Vance laughed, a nasty, sharp sound. “I’ve got men stationed at every exit downstairs, and a live broadcast ready to go to every major news station in the country. The moment I don't walk out of here alive, the whole world finds out that the ruthless Storm Moretti has a little heir hiding in Boston.”

Inside the study, my blood ran cold. They knew. Vance knew everything.

I looked back at Leo, who was quietly playing with his silver toy car on the sofa, completely oblivious to the fact that his existence had just become a pawn in a brutal corporate war.