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 did not scream. He did not throw a punch. The terrifying thing about Dominic Ferraro was that the angrier he became, the quieter his voice grew.

"Where is Leo?" Dominic asked.

Vivienne closed her mouth instantly, realizing how far she had crossed the line. A sudden look of panic flickered across her features.

"I asked you a question, Vivienne," Dominic repeated, his voice silky and dangerous. "Where is my driver?"

Vivienne pressed her lips together and remained silent.

Dominic turned to Mateo. "Bring up the basement surveillance feeds from the south gate. Check the cottage behind the vineyards."

Vivienne’s eyes widened with genuine terror. "Dominic, don't—"

"The caretaker’s cottage," Dominic continued, ignoring her completely. "The one Julian supposedly rented to an old gardener three years ago. Go down there right now. If there is a man with a limp inside, bring him to me in zip-ties."

Mateo nodded and sprinted out of the room, taking four guards with him.

Dominic walked over to the sofa where Anna was sitting. He looked down at Noah, who was beginning to stir, rubbing his sleepy eyes against Anna’s uniform.

"He shouldn't be in this room," Dominic said gently.

"Dominic, where will we go?" Anna asked, her voice trembling. "She tried to kill you. She might have other people in this house."

"Nobody touches you in this house," Dominic said firmly. He reached down and gently slid his hand under Noah’s back, lifting the seven-year-old into his arms with effortless strength.

Noah woke up, blinking in confusion at the rugged, scarred face of the man holding him. He didn't pull away. He looked at Dominic’s tuxedo, then at the silver ring that Dominic had slipped onto his own pinky finger.

"Are you taking us back to Cleveland?" Noah asked in a small, sleepy voice.

Dominic felt a sudden warmth tighten in his chest. He looked at his son with an expression nobody in the underworld had ever seen on the face of the great boss: pure, protective tenderness.

"No, kid," Dominic whispered. "You’re home."

He carried Noah into the adjacent private bedroom, laying him gently onto the massive king-sized bed. Anna followed immediately, pulling the heavy velvet blanket over Noah’s shoulders.

When Anna turned back around, Dominic was standing in the doorway, watching her.

"Eight years, Anna," Dominic murmured. "You cleaned floors in diners. You raised my son on ten dollars an hour."

"I did what I had to do to keep him safe," Anna replied, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "I thought you were dead, Dominic. Every time I looked at him, I saw you. It hurt... but it kept me going."

Dominic stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch the curve of her jaw. His rough thumb brushed away a tear.

"I looked for you in the morgues," Dominic said, his voice cracking slightly. "I spent six months tearing Chicago apart looking for whoever planted those bombs. Julian misled me every step of the way. He fed me false leads, pointed me at Detroit, made me start a war that cost fifty lives."