The two men in black suits were waiting beside the SUV when I stepped outside.

One opened the rear door.

“Miss Marshall.”

I hesitated.

“Am I being arrested?”

The man blinked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then why does this feel like an abduction?”

He didn’t smile.

“Mr. Moretti asked us to bring you to him. He also instructed us not to frighten you.”

I looked at the second man.

“He’s doing a terrible job.”

Neither answered.

I climbed into the vehicle.

The ride through Manhattan was silent. I watched familiar streets disappear behind tinted windows, my fingers twisting the strap of my handbag.

I kept thinking about Orion.

Had he really refused to eat?

The enormous dog had looked so gentle when I touched him. It was difficult to reconcile that image with the stories my manager had told me.

And then there was Dante Moretti.

A man who apparently had my entire background investigated overnight.

Why?

Twenty minutes later, the SUV entered a private underground garage beneath a towering building overlooking the Hudson River.

The elevator carried me to the thirty-second floor.

When the doors opened, I found myself standing in a luxurious penthouse.

Everything was dark marble, expensive furniture, and enormous windows overlooking the city.

Two security guards stood near the entrance.

Then I heard something.

A familiar, low rumble.

“Orion?”

The mᴀssive black dog appeared from behind a doorway.

His amber eyes immediately found me.

His tail began moving.

Then he practically ran across the room.

“Hey, handsome!”

I crouched just in time for him to press his enormous head against my chest.

I laughed as he nearly knocked me backward.

“Okay, okay! I missed you too!”

A deep voice interrupted us.

“He hasn’t done that for anyone else.”

I looked up.

Dante Moretti stood near the fireplace.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His expression was as intimidating as it had been the night before.

But his eyes were different.

He looked as though he hadn’t slept.

“Good morning,” I said cautiously.

“Sit down, Olivia.”

I glanced at Orion.

“Can he stay?”

Dante looked at the dog.

Orion was already lying beside my feet.

“Apparently, I don’t have much say in that.”

I almost smiled.

Then Dante placed a thick folder on the coffee table.

“Do you know why I asked you here?”

“No. And frankly, I’m beginning to regret touching your dog.”

He didn’t react.

Instead, he opened the folder.

Inside were pH๏τographs, old newspaper clippings, hospital records, and a pH๏τograph of a young woman holding a newborn baby.

I recognized the woman immediately.

Not because I knew her personally.

Because I had seen her face in my childhood pH๏τographs.

It was my mother.

My adoptive mother.

Her name had been Margaret Marshall.

I looked up.

“Why do you have pictures of my mother?”

Dante’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“That’s not your biological mother.”

My stomach dropped.

“What?”

He slid another pH๏τograph toward me.

It showed a beautiful young woman with dark hair and striking gray eyes.

She looked remarkably like Dante.

“Her name was Elena Moretti,” he said. “My younger sister.”

I stared at the pH๏τograph.

“What does she have to do with me?”

Dante didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he picked up a hospital document.

“Twenty-six years ago, Elena gave birth to a little girl at St. Catherine’s Hospital.”

My throat тιԍнтened.

“Okay…”

“She named her Olivia.”

The room seemed to tilt.

I looked down at the pH๏τograph again.

Then at him.

“No.”

Dante’s voice became quieter.

“The child was reported ᴅᴇᴀᴅ shortly after birth.”

I felt my fingers go cold.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He pushed the document closer.

“Because the hospital record lists the baby’s full name as Olivia Elena Moretti.”

I shook my head.

“That’s impossible.”

“That’s what I thought.”

I stood abruptly.

“You’re making a mistake. My parents adopted me when I was a baby. I have adoption papers. I have a birth certificate.”

Dante nodded.

“Your adoptive parents may have believed those documents were legitimate.”

I stared at him.

“May have?”

He took another pH๏τograph from the folder.

It showed a tiny baby wrapped in a white blanket.

Around the baby’s wrist was a hospital bracelet.

I leaned closer.

The bracelet had a handwritten name.

OLIVIA E. MORETTI.

My knees weakened.

“Where did you get this?”

“From my sister’s personal belongings.”

I looked at him.

“You’re saying I’m your sister’s daughter?”

“I’m saying there’s enough evidence to investigate that possibility.”

He paused.

“But I won’t ask you to believe something this important without proof.”

For the first time, I saw something in his expression that didn’t look like power.

It looked like grief.

I sat back down.

My mind was racing.

My childhood had never been particularly happy.

The Marshalls had adopted me when I was an infant. My father, Robert, died when I was nine. My mother raised me alone until she pᴀssed away when I was nineteen.

She had always told me my biological parents were young, unmarried, and unable to care for me.

Whenever I asked for details, she changed the subject.

I had never pushed.

I had loved her.

I still did.

But now I was being told that my entire idenтιтy might have been built on a lie.

“Why would your sister’s baby be reported ᴅᴇᴀᴅ?”

Dante leaned against the table.

“Elena died when I was twenty. There was a fire at a private estate outside the city. My father told us she hadn’t survived.”

“And the baby?”

“He said the child died at the hospital.”

I looked at the pH๏τograph again.

“Did you see the body?”

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“No.”

“Did you see the medical records?”

“No.”

“Then why did you believe him?”

Dante’s eyes hardened.

“Because my father controlled everything. The hospital. The funeral. The investigation. He told us there was nothing left to question.”

I stared at him.

“Your father?”

“He was a powerful man. People did what he told them.”

“Did you ever try to find out what happened?”

“Yes.”

His voice was cold.

“Every lead ended in a ᴅᴇᴀᴅ end.”

He looked at the pH๏τograph of Elena.

“Until last night.”

I swallowed.

“Why did you start looking at me?”

Dante glanced toward Orion.

“Because of him.”

I looked down.

Orion had settled against my legs, his head resting on my knee.

“Your dog?”

“Orion belonged to Elena.”

My breath caught.

“What?”

“He was a puppy when she brought him home. He was with her almost every day. After she died, I took him.”

I gently stroked his head.

Dante continued.

“He has never accepted strangers. He has bitten men who worked for me for years. Even my personal security team has to respect his boundaries.”

I remembered how Orion had leaned into my palm.

“But he liked me.”

“He didn’t just like you.”

Dante walked toward a cabinet and removed a small wooden box.

“He recognized something.”

He opened it.

Inside was a tiny silver music box.

He wound it carefully.

A soft melody filled the room.

My entire body went still.

I knew that tune.

I had heard it when I was little.

My adoptive mother used to hum it whenever I was frightened. She said it was a lullaby my biological mother had loved.

I stared at the music box.

“Where did you get that?”

“It belonged to Elena.”

I looked at Dante.

“That’s the song my mother used to sing to me.”

He stopped winding the music box.

“Your adoptive mother knew this melody?”

I nodded slowly.

“She used to hum it when I couldn’t sleep. She told me it came from my birth family.”

Dante’s expression changed.

He looked down at the box.

Then back at me.

“Elena used to sing that to her daughter.”

I covered my mouth.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Orion lifted his head.

I unconsciously began humming the melody.

The dog stood.

He approached me, pressed his nose against my palm, and let out a long, mournful whine.

Dante turned away.

His shoulders stiffened.

And I realized something.

He wasn’t merely curious about me.

He was afraid.

Afraid that I might be the family he had spent twenty-six years believing was gone.

“There’s one more thing,” Dante said.

He placed a final document on the table.

It was an old pH๏τograph of Elena standing beside a man.

The man looked familiar.

I couldn’t explain why.

“Who is he?”

“My father.”

I stared at the pH๏τograph.

Dante’s father had been named Antonio Moretti.

He had died twelve years earlier, leaving behind an enormous criminal organization and a complicated inheritance.

“What does he have to do with me?”

Dante pointed to the back of the pH๏τograph.

Someone had written a date and a short sentence.

The child must never be found.

I felt my stomach turn.

“Why would anyone write that?”

Dante’s expression became unreadable.

“Because Elena was planning to leave the family.”

“Leave?”

“She wanted to escape the organization. She was engaged to a man my father considered an enemy.”

I looked at the pH๏τograph again.

“Was he the baby’s father?”

Dante nodded.

“His name was Michael Marshall.”

The name hit me like a physical blow.

Marshall.

My surname.

“My adoptive parents had the same surname,” I whispered.

Dante watched me carefully.

“Did they ever tell you whether Robert Marshall was related to your biological family?”

I shook my head.

“No. They said they found me through an adoption agency.”

Dante took a breath.

“Then we need to find out who arranged that adoption.”

He picked up his phone.

“Get me the original hospital records. I want the adoption file, the birth registration, and every document connected to Elena’s death.”

A man answered.

“Yes, boss.”

“And arrange an independent DNA test.”

He ended the call.

Then he looked at me.

“I won’t force you to accept anything. But if you’re Elena’s daughter, you deserve to know the truth.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

An hour later, Dante’s head of security entered the penthouse.

His name was Marco.

He was tall, clean-shaven, and looked like someone who had never smiled in his life.

“Boss.”

Dante turned.

“What is it?”

“We found something.”

Marco placed a tablet on the table.

“Your sister’s former nurse was located. She lives outside Philadelphia under a different surname.”

Dante’s expression sharpened.

“Is she alive?”

“Yes.”

“Bring her here.”

Marco hesitated.

“There’s a problem.”

“What?”

“Someone else has already contacted her.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed.

“Who?”

Marco looked at me briefly.

Then back at his employer.

“An attorney representing the estate of Antonio Moretti.”

Dante went completely still.

“My father has been ᴅᴇᴀᴅ for twelve years.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Then who is representing his estate?”

Marco tapped the tablet.

A name appeared on the screen.

VICTOR MORETTI.

Dante’s younger brother.

I watched his face change.

“Victor knows?”

“Apparently.”

Dante picked up the tablet.

“What exactly did he say?”

Marco hesitated.

“He told the nurse that if Olivia Marshall was found, she should be brought to him immediately.”

My stomach тιԍнтened.

“Why would your brother want to meet me?”

Dante looked at me.

“Because if you’re Elena’s daughter, you may be enтιтled to something he has spent years protecting.”

“What?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned back to Marco.

“Double the security around this building. Nobody approaches Olivia without my permission.”

I stood.

“Wait. I don’t want to be treated like a prisoner.”

Dante turned toward me.

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“Then I want to go home.”

He looked at me for several seconds.

Finally, he nodded.

“Marco will take you.”

I picked up my handbag.

Orion immediately stood and followed me.

Dante frowned.

“Orion.”

The dog ignored him.

I crouched and rubbed his head.

“Don’t worry, handsome. I’ll see you again.”

Orion whined.

Dante watched him.

Then he said something that surprised me.

“Take him with you.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“He won’t leave your side anyway.”

Marco looked as though he’d just witnessed a miracle.

I glanced at Dante.

“Are you sure?”

He gave a small nod.

“Just don’t let him eat your shoes.”

For the first time, I laughed.

And for one brief moment, the terrifying Mafia boss looked almost human.

That evening, I returned to my small apartment with Orion beside me.

My landlord nearly dropped his keys when he saw the enormous black dog.

“Olivia… what is that?”

“My new roommate.”

Orion walked straight into my living room, circled twice, and lay down beside the sofa.

I laughed despite everything.

But my happiness didn’t last long.

At 9:42 p.m., someone knocked on my door.

I froze.

Orion immediately stood.

A low growl rumbled through his chest.

I approached the peephole.

A woman stood outside.

She looked to be in her late sixties, with silver hair and a dark coat.

I opened the door only a few inches.

“Can I help you?”

The woman stared at me.

Her eyes filled with tears.

Then she whispered:

“Oh, my God.”

I stepped back.

“Do I know you?”

She shook her head.

“No, sweetheart. But I knew your mother.”

My heart began pounding.

“Elena?”

The woman nodded.

“I was her nurse. I held you the night you were born.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Then you know what happened?”

She looked over my shoulder at Orion.

Then her expression changed.

“Where did you get that dog?”

“He belongs to Dante Moretti.”

Her face went white.

She stepped closer and grabbed my wrist.

“Listen to me carefully. You must not trust Victor Moretti.”

I stared at her.

“Why?”

She began shaking.

“Because he was the one who took you from the hospital.”

My blood turned cold.

“What?”

The woman looked directly into my eyes.

“Your mother didn’t die in that fire, Olivia.”

I felt the world disappear around me.

“What are you talking about?”

She swallowed.

“Elena survived. And before she disappeared, she made me promise to keep you safe.”

I took a step toward her.

“Where is she?”

The woman opened her mouth.

But before she could answer, her phone rang.

She looked at the screen.

All the color drained from her face.

Then she whispered:

“They’ve found me.”

The lights in my apartment suddenly went out.

Orion moved in front of me, his teeth exposed.

Outside, I heard the unmistakable sound of several car doors slamming.

Then a man’s voice echoed through the hallway.

“Olivia Marshall.”

A pause.

“Your uncle wants you home.”

TO BE CONTINUED — PART 3