My Maid’s Son Dropped a Ring With My Family Crest and Initials—Then His Mother Said I Gave It to Her Eight Years Ago.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, almost?"

Moretti picked up the old leather journal from the table. He slowly stood up from his chair, leaning on his cane, and walked toward Dominic.

"Your father’s journal had one more page, Dominic," Moretti said, his voice dropping so low that only Dominic and Anna could hear. "A page that was torn out thirty years ago and tucked into the back lining of the spine."

Dominic felt a sudden chill run down his spine. "What did it say?"

Moretti handed him a yellowed, fragile slip of paper.

Written on it, in his father’s precise, old-fashioned script, was a baptismal record dated July 12th, 1965:

*Child: Marcus Anthony Ferraro.*

*Mother: Helena Vance.*

*Adoptive Family: The Miller Family, Chicago.*

*Current Alias: Mateo Miller.*

Dominic’s entire body went rigid. His breath stopped in his throat.

Mateo.

His chief of security. The man who had guarded his back for fifteen years. The man who stood five feet behind him right now, holding the heavy keys to the estate.

Dominic did not turn around immediately. He kept his eyes on the paper, his mind racing through fifteen years of memories.

Mateo had always been there. In every raid. In every negotiation. In the hospital room after the warehouse bombing.

*Mateo was his older brother.*

Dominic slowly turned his head to look back down the cathedral aisle.

Mateo was standing by the heavy bronze doors. He was not looking at the Council. He was looking directly at Dominic, his expression calm, unreadable, and completely devoid of fear.

Mateo reached inside his suit jacket.

Anna gasped, stepping in front of Noah instinctively.

Dominic didn't flinch. He watched Mateo's hand.

Mateo didn't pull a weapon. He pulled out a small, tarnished silver pocket watch—the exact match to the pocket watch Dominic’s father had carried until the day he died.

Mateo clicked the watch open, glanced at the time, and looked back at Dominic.

"You’re a good Boss, little brother," Mateo said quietly, his voice echoing softly through the stone arches. "And you’re a good father. That's why I let you keep the seat."

The Council members gasped, reaching for their weapons, but Dominic raised a single hand, stopping everyone in the room.

"You knew," Dominic whispered.

"I’ve known since I was twenty-five," Mateo answered, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. "Julian found out two years ago. That's why he panicked. He thought I was going to claim the throne and kill him. He didn't understand that I never wanted the crown. I only wanted to protect our blood."

Mateo looked at Noah, his eyes softening. "And the boy is safe now. That's all that matters."

Mateo placed the antique pocket watch gently onto the wooden pew beside the door. He turned on his heel, pushed open the massive bronze doors into the pouring rain, and walked down the stone steps.