A Baby Crawled Out From Under My Desk Wearing My Dead Brother’s Medal—Then Her Mother Told Me Julian Caruso Was Her Father.

The ride back to the Caruso estate was silent save for the hum of the engine and the patter of rain against the tinted windows of the armored sedan.

Gabriel sat in the rear seat, holding Grace on his lap while Hannah sat beside him, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket he had given her. Grace was fast asleep, her tiny hand clutching the dark brown tie of his ivory suit.

"Why didn't you tell me Vincent was your uncle?" Gabriel asked, his deep voice slicing through the quiet interior.

Hannah looked out the window at the passing city lights. "Because my mother was disowned by the Romano family twenty-eight years ago when she married my father, a poor mechanic. Vincent erased her from his life. I never met him until I applied for the housekeeping job at your estate seven months ago."

"Did Vincent know who you were when he hired you?" Gabriel pressed.

"No," Hannah whispered, turning to meet his gray-blue eyes. "I used my father's last name, Reed. But two weeks ago, I caught Vincent searching Julian's old quarters. When he saw me holding Grace, he looked at her face... and he asked me if my mother was Rose Romano."

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. The medium-term mystery was opening like a dark flower. Vincent hadn't tried to eliminate Grace just because of a Chicago treaty—he had tried to destroy her because she represented a bloodline union between the Caruso empire and his own disgraced family line.

The convoy pulled into the subterranean garage of the Caruso estate. Marco opened the sedan door, holding an umbrella over Gabriel as he stepped out carrying the sleeping infant.

"Boss," Marco said, leaning in close. "We swept Vincent's private office while you were in Brooklyn. We found a locked safe behind his wall mirror."

"Did you open it?" Gabriel asked.

"Yes, Boss," Marco replied, handing Gabriel a sleek silver keycard and a sealed manila envelope. "Inside was this keycard to a private vault at the Manhattan Trust Bank... registered under Julian's name."

Gabriel took the envelope and walked upstairs to his private study, with Hannah trailing close behind.

He set Grace down gently in a velvet armchair, draping his suit jacket over her tiny legs. He tore open the manila envelope and pulled out a stack of financial documents dated six months ago—the week Julian died.

Gabriel scanned the numbers rapidly.

Three days before Julian's fatal crash, a transfer of fifteen million dollars had been executed from account 7704-B into a private shell company in the Cayman Islands.

The signature authorizing the fifteen-million-dollar drain was signed with a thumbprint.

Gabriel brought the scanned thumbprint close to the desk lamp.

The scar running diagonally across the right loop of the print was unmistakable. It belonged to the thumb of Gabriel’s late brother, Julian.

"Julian didn't lose that money," Gabriel muttered to himself, his mind racing. "He moved it himself."

Hannah stepped up to the desk, her brow furrowed. "Moved it where?"

"To a blind trust," Gabriel realized, looking up at her. "He drained the family account to build a secret nest egg for you and Grace before he died."

Before Hannah could speak, the study doors burst open.

A security guard ran into the room, his face drenched in sweat. "Don Gabriel! The lower cellar has been breached! Someone killed the two guards outside Vincent's cell!"