For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.

Anthony had worked for my family for nearly fifteen years. He had protected my father, escorted my grandfather through hostile business negotiations, and stood beside me during situations that would have made ordinary men run.

He had never sounded afraid.

Until now.

“Repeat what you just said,” I ordered.

“Your grandfather instructed me to bring you home if you encountered Isabella Rossi tonight. He specifically mentioned four boys.”

I rose so abruptly that my chair scraped across the floor.

“When did he give you this instruction?”

“Twenty minutes before you called.”

“How did he know I would see her?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me, Anthony.”

“I’m not lying.”

I looked through the restaurant window. Cars moved along the wet Boston streets, their headlights reflecting across the pavement.

Somewhere out there, Isabella was taking my four sons home.

My four sons.

And my grandfather had apparently known about them before I had even learned their names.

“Listen carefully,” I said. “I want you to find Isabella’s car. Keep your distance. Don’t approach her, don’t speak to her, and don’t let anyone else get near those children.”

“Understood.”

“And Anthony?”

“Yes, sir?”

“If my grandfather calls again, you tell him you couldn’t find me.”

There was a pause.

“Mr. Moretti, if he discovers that I’ve helped you—”

“He can fire you. He can take your house, your pension, and every dollar you’ve ever earned from my family. That’s his problem.”

I lowered my voice.

“But if anyone touches those boys, that’s mine.”

I ended the call.

Then I looked at the diamond ring in my hand.

It was a magnificent stone, selected by my mother and approved by the Barrett family. The proposal was supposed to be the beginning of a partnership that would secure my family’s future for decades.

I placed the ring back inside its velvet box.

For the first time in my life, I understood how little any of it meant.

I called my driver.

“Take me to the conservatory.”

“Of course, sir. Miss Barrett is already there.”

“I know.”

“And your grandfather asked me to remind you that the announcement is scheduled for eight.”

I glanced at my watch.

Seven forty-two.

“Then we’d better not keep him waiting.”

Because before I could protect my sons, I needed to discover exactly what my family had done.

And I had a terrible feeling that the truth was going to be far worse than I imagined.

The conservatory glowed beneath the night sky.

White roses lined the entrance. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the glᴀss ceiling, and dozens of candles flickered along the tables overlooking the Charles River.

My mother had personally supervised every detail.

She had invited business ᴀssociates, political connections, family friends, and members of Boston society who would undoubtedly discuss my engagement for weeks.

At the center of the room stood Sloane Barrett.

She wore a champagne-colored gown, her blond hair swept into an elegant arrangement. She looked every bit the woman my family had chosen for me.

When she saw me, her face brightened.

“There you are.”

She approached and kissed my cheek.

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

I looked at her.

For months, Sloane had spoken about our future as though it were a contract waiting for signatures. She was intelligent enough to understand that our engagement was not entirely about love.

Still, I had never been cruel to her.

She deserved better than a man who stood beside her while thinking about another woman.

“I need to speak with you,” I said.

Her smile faded.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

She glanced toward the gathering guests.

“Dominic, your grandfather is practically vibrating with anticipation. Whatever it is, can’t it wait until after the proposal?”

“No.”

Something in my expression must have frightened her because she followed me into a private sitting room without another word.

I closed the door.

“I won’t be proposing tonight.”

She stared at me.

Then she laughed once, sharply.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Is this some kind of test?”

“No.”

Her face changed.

“Is there someone else?”

I could have lied.

I could have told her that business had become complicated, that I needed more time, that the timing wasn’t right.

But I had spent six years living inside a lie.

I wasn’t going to begin another one.

“Yes.”

Sloane’s eyes narrowed.

“Who?”

“Someone I knew a long time ago.”

“Someone you loved?”

I didn’t answer.

She looked away, pressing her fingers against her forehead.

“Oh, my God.”

“Sloane—”

“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Don’t stand there and pretend this is some noble gesture. You knew about this engagement for months. You let my family plan tonight. You let me stand in front of a room full of people waiting for you to put a ring on my finger.”

“I know.”

“Then explain why you’re doing this to me.”

I took a breath.

“Because I discovered something tonight that changes everything.”

“What could possibly be more important than this?”

I looked directly at her.

“My children.”

She went completely still.

“Your what?”

“My children.”

For several seconds, she didn’t move.

Then she whispered, “You have children?”

“Four sons. They’re six years old.”

Her lips parted.

I watched the shock spread across her face, followed by confusion, disbelief, and finally something I couldn’t quite identify.

“Four?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t know about them?”

“No.”

She sank onto the sofa.

“Dominic, how is that even possible?”

“Because the woman who gave birth to them was forced out of my life before they were born.”

Sloane stared at me.

“By whom?”

Before I could answer, the sitting-room door opened.

My grandfather entered.

Giovanni Moretti was eighty-one years old, but he carried himself with the authority of a man who had never accepted the possibility of being ignored.

His silver hair was perfectly combed. His black suit was immaculate. A gold watch rested beneath his cuff.

He looked at Sloane.

Then at me.

“Get up,” he said.

I didn’t move.

“Excuse me?”

“The guests are waiting.”

“Then they can wait a little longer.”

His eyes hardened.

“What is this nonsense?”

I stepped toward him.

“Did you know Isabella had four children?”

For the first time in my life, I watched my grandfather struggle to control his expression.

It lasted less than a second.

But I saw it.

And that was enough.

“You’ve seen her,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“And the children?”

“My sons.”

He exhaled through his nose and closed the door behind him.

Sloane stood slowly.

“Mr. Moretti, did you know about this?”

My grandfather didn’t even look at her.

“Dominic, whatever she told you, you need to understand that Isabella has always been very good at manipulating people.”

I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

“She told me you threatened her.”

“I gave her advice.”

“You threatened her while she was pregnant with my children.”

“I protected you.”

“From my own sons?”

“From a woman who would have destroyed your future.”

I stared at him.

“My future?”

He gestured toward the glᴀss walls, the flowers, the guests, the elaborate celebration.

“This is your future. Your position. Your responsibilities. Your family.”

I took another step toward him.

“My family includes four little boys who have spent six years without their father.”

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He looked toward Sloane.

“Leave us.”

She hesitated.

“Mr. Moretti—”

“Now.”

Sloane looked at me.

I gave her a small nod.

She walked out, closing the door behind her.

The moment we were alone, I asked the question that had been burning through me since the restaurant.

“Why did you keep my children from me?”

My grandfather walked toward the window.

For several seconds, he watched the river.

Then he said, “Because you would have chosen them.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“You would have abandoned everything for Isabella and those children. You would have walked away from the business, from the family, from every responsibility you were born to carry.”

“They’re my children.”

“And you are a Moretti.”

The words came out like a verdict.

I laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Is that what this has always been about? The family name?”

“It has always been about survival.”

“Whose survival?”

He turned toward me.

“Yours. Mine. Everyone who depends on us.”

I stared at him.

“You made me believe Isabella had betrayed me.”

“She was going to leave eventually.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know people.”

“No,” I said quietly. “You know how to control them.”

His expression darkened.

“Be careful, Dominic.”

“Or what? You’ll threaten my children the way you threatened their mother?”

For the first time, my grandfather’s composure cracked.

“I never threatened the boys.”

“You told Anthony not to let them leave Boston.”

His silence was answer enough.

I felt something inside me harden.

“Why?”

“Because if those children are yours, they are Morettis. They belong under this family’s protection.”

“Protection?” I repeated. “You mean control.”

“Call it whatever you like.”

He reached into his jacket and removed a folded document.

“You will sign this.”

I didn’t take it.

“What is it?”

“A declaration establishing the children’s residence, guardianship arrangements, and financial future.”

I stared at him.

“You prepared legal documents before I even knew they existed?”

“I prepared for every possibility.”

“Does Isabella know about this?”

“She will.”

I looked at the document in his hand.

My grandfather had already planned the next move.

He would bring my sons into the Moretti household, surround them with money, private schools, security, and everything a child could ever want.

And then he would make certain Isabella had no power to resist him.

“You’re not taking them from her,” I said.

His expression turned cold.

“You have no idea how many people would consider her unfit to raise children in her circumstances.”

“She’s raised four boys alone for six years.”

“Exactly. Alone. In a small apartment. Without the resources they deserve.”

“They have a mother who loves them.”

“They need more than love.”

I stepped so close that he had to look up slightly to meet my eyes.

“And they need a father who won’t let his own grandfather use them as bargaining chips.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he leaned toward me.

“Ask Isabella what happened the night she left Boston. Ask her why she never went to the police. Ask her what she was really carrying when she disappeared.”

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

His expression became unreadable.

“Your precious Isabella has never told you the entire truth.”

Before I could respond, my phone vibrated.

A message from Anthony.

URGENT. I FOUND SOMETHING.

A second message arrived immediately afterward.

YOUR GRANDFATHER HAS HAD A PRIVATE SURVEILLANCE FILE ON ISABELLA FOR SIX YEARS.

Then a pH๏τograph appeared.

I opened it.

The image showed Isabella leaving a hospital with four newborn babies in her arms.

A man stood several feet behind her.

He wore a dark coat and a baseball cap.

But I recognized him instantly.

It was my father’s former head of security.

A man who had supposedly died in a car accident five years earlier.

Beneath the pH๏τograph, Anthony had written one more sentence.

DOMINIC, HE WASN’T WATCHING HER TO PROTECT THE CHILDREN. HE WAS WATCHING HER BECAUSE HE BELIEVED ONE OF THE BOYS WASN’T YOURS.

My blood ran cold.

I looked up at my grandfather.

He was watching me.

And for the first time in my life, Giovanni Moretti looked afraid.

I left the conservatory without making the announcement.

Behind me, the music continued. Guests murmured. My mother demanded explanations from anyone who would listen.

None of it mattered.

I called Anthony from the car.

“Tell me everything.”

“I found the surveillance file on an encrypted drive in your grandfather’s private office.”

“How much is in it?”

“Six years of reports. PH๏τographs. Medical records. Financial transactions. Everything.”

“Medical records?”

“Yes, sir.”

My grip тιԍнтened around the phone.

“Explain.”

“There’s a report from the hospital where Isabella delivered the boys. It says there was a complication during the birth.”

“What kind of complication?”

Anthony hesitated.

“One of the babies required emergency treatment. The hospital needed a family medical history, but Isabella refused to provide one.”

I closed my eyes.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then find out.”

“There’s something else.”

I waited.

“The file contains a DNA report.”

My heart began pounding.

“Whose DNA?”

“Your grandfather’s.”

I stared at the pᴀssing lights.

“Why would he have a DNA report?”

“I don’t know, sir. But there’s a handwritten note attached to it.”

“What does it say?”

Anthony took a breath.

“It says, ‘If the boy is a Moretti, we must secure him before the truth destroys us.’”

The car seemed to shrink around me.

“The boy?” I whispered.

“Singular. Not the boys. One boy.”

I thought of the four faces at the restaurant.

Luca’s bright smile.

Matteo’s restless energy.

Gabriel’s serious expression.

Noah’s quiet eyes.

Four little boys who had done nothing wrong.

Four children whose lives had been shaped by secrets they were too young to understand.

“Anthony, listen to me. I need the original DNA report. I need the hospital records, every surveillance pH๏τograph, and every document connected to Isabella.”

“I’ll get them.”

“And I need you to find out which boy my grandfather was talking about.”

“Yes, sir.”

I ended the call.

Then I dialed Isabella.

She answered after the third ring.

“Dominic?”

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

“Are the boys with you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because I need to see you tonight.”

“Tomorrow morning. We agreed.”

“I know, but something has happened.”

Silence.

Then she asked, “What did you find?”

I swallowed.

“My grandfather has been watching you for six years.”

I heard her inhale sharply.

“He has pH๏τographs of you leaving the hospital with the boys. He has medical records. And he has a DNA report.”

She didn’t speak.

“Isabella, what happened when the boys were born?”

A long silence followed.

Then she whispered, “You shouldn’t have found that file.”

“Why?”

“Because if your grandfather knows you’ve seen it, he’ll come for us.”

“He won’t get near you.”

“You can’t promise that!”

Her voice broke so suddenly that I fell silent.

When she spoke again, she sounded exhausted.

“Dominic, there’s something I’ve never told you. Something I thought I could keep hidden forever.”

My heart hammered.

“What?”

“One of the boys isn’t—”

The line went ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.

I stared at my phone.

Then a message appeared.

Unknown number.

STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR SONS.

A second message followed.

YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO DECIDE WHICH FAMILY YOU WANT TO SAVE.

And attached to it was a pH๏τograph taken only minutes earlier.

Isabella stood outside her apartment building.

All four boys were beside her.

Across the street, a black SUV sat with its headlights off.

Someone had circled one of the children in red.

Noah.

I read the message again.

Then I called Anthony.

“Get every available man to Isabella’s address. Now.”

“What’s happening?”

“Someone is watching my sons.”

I looked at the clock on the dashboard.

Eleven twenty-three.

Thirty-seven minutes until midnight.

Thirty-seven minutes to discover why my grandfather had singled out Noah.

Thirty-seven minutes to uncover the truth Isabella had been too afraid to tell me.

And thirty-seven minutes before someone might try to take one of my children.

I pressed the accelerator.

For six years, I had believed my family was the only thing worth protecting.

Tonight, I was about to find out how far my family would go to destroy itself.

TO BE CONTINUED — PART 4