Mag-log inDaniel's words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Someone else killed Grace Hayes. Someone Cassandra knew. Her mind raced through a list of names—Vincent, Elena, Marcus Kane—but none of them felt right. None of them fit.
"I need to see you," Daniel said, his voice urgent. "In person. I'll explain everything. But you need to be careful. Someone is watching."
The line went dead.
---
Cassandra found Dante in the study, poring over documents. He looked up when she entered, his eyes sharp, alert.
"What happened?"
She told him. About Daniel's call. About the warning. About the truth she was still trying to process.
Dante's jaw tightened. "I don't trust him."
"I know." Cassandra sat beside him. "But I need to hear what he has to say. If there's even a chance he's telling the truth—"
"Then we'll listen." Dante took her hand. "Together."
---
Daniel arrived at the safe house under cover of darkness.
He was nervous, his eyes darting around the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He knew the risk he was taking coming here. Marcus Kane had eyes everywhere. One wrong move and he'd be dead.
"Thank you for seeing me," he said quietly.
Cassandra nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.
Dante stood by the window, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He was watching Daniel closely, looking for any sign of deception.
---
Daniel sat across from Cassandra, his hands trembling slightly.
"I was there the night Grace died," he said. "I'd been following her for weeks. I knew she was in danger—she'd told me as much the last time we spoke. I wanted to protect her."
Cassandra's throat tightened. "You were there?"
"I was too late." His voice cracked. "I saw her meet with someone. Someone she trusted. Someone who was supposed to help her."
"Who?"
Daniel hesitated. His eyes flicked to Dante, then back to Cassandra.
"She met with Evelyn. Your grandmother."
---
Cassandra's blood ran cold.
"No," she whispered. "That's not possible. My grandmother loved my mother. She would never—"
"She was scared." Daniel leaned forward, his voice urgent. "Marcus Kane threatened her. He told her if she didn't cooperate, he would kill you. You were just a baby. She didn't know what else to do."
Cassandra shook her head. "She wouldn't. She couldn't."
"I'm sorry." Daniel's eyes glistened. "I wish I wasn't telling you this. But you deserve to know the truth."
---
Dante stepped forward. "What exactly did you see?"
Daniel took a shaky breath. "I saw Evelyn meet with Grace. They argued. Evelyn was crying. And then—" He paused. "Evelyn made a phone call. Ten minutes later, Vincent's men arrived. They took Grace away."
"And you did nothing?" Dante's voice was cold.
"I tried to follow them. But I was outnumbered. I was shot." Daniel pulled up his shirt, revealing a scar on his side. "I nearly died. By the time I recovered, Grace was gone. And I had no proof of what I'd seen."
---
Cassandra stood abruptly. Her legs were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
"I need to be alone," she whispered.
She walked out of the room, leaving Daniel and Dante behind.
---
Dante found her in the garden, sitting on a stone bench, staring at nothing.
He sat beside her, not speaking. He didn't try to comfort her. He didn't try to fix it. He just sat with her, his presence a quiet anchor in the storm.
"She killed my mother," Cassandra finally said. Her voice was hollow. "My grandmother. The woman who raised me. The woman I trusted more than anyone."
"We don't know the full story," Dante said carefully.
"She made a phone call. She gave her up." Cassandra's voice cracked. "She let her die."
Dante reached for her hand. She let him take it.
"I need to hear it from her," Cassandra said. "I need to look her in the eye and ask her why."
"Then we'll go. Together."
---
Cassandra went to Evelyn's house alone.
She didn't tell Dante. She didn't tell anyone. She needed to do this by herself. She needed to face the woman who had raised her, loved her, lied to her.
Evelyn opened the door. Her face went pale when she saw Cassandra.
"Cassandra—"
"Did you do it?" Cassandra's voice was shaking. "Did you betray my mother?"
Evelyn's face crumpled. She fell to her knees, sobbing.
"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm so sorry."
---
Cassandra felt the world tilt beneath her feet.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why would you do that?"
"He threatened you." Evelyn's voice was broken. "Marcus Kane. He said if I didn't help him, he would kill you. You were just a baby. I couldn't let him hurt you."
"So you let him hurt her instead?"
"I thought—I thought if I gave him what he wanted, he would let her go. I was wrong. I was so wrong." Evelyn reached for Cassandra's hand. "I've been living with this guilt every single day. Every time I looked at you, I saw her. I saw what I did."
Cassandra pulled her hand away. "You should have told me."
"I was ashamed. I was terrified you'd hate me." Evelyn sobbed. "And I was right. You do hate me."
Cassandra stared at her grandmother. The woman who had raised her. The woman who had loved her. The woman who had betrayed her mother.
"I don't hate you," she said quietly. "But I don't know if I can ever forgive you."
---
She returned to the safe house.
Dante was waiting. He took one look at her face and crossed the room, pulling her into his arms.
"What happened?"
She told him. Everything. The confession. The tears. The truth.
Dante held her as she cried. He didn't tell her what to do. He didn't offer solutions. He just held her.
"I don't know what to feel," she whispered.
"It's okay." His voice was soft. "You don't have to figure it out tonight."
Dante couldn't sleep.He sat in the hospital waiting room, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The vending machine whirred. The night nurse shuffled past, her footsteps soft against the linoleum.He didn't look up.The memory played on a loop in his mind—Donald's face, the gunshot, the body falling. He'd killed before. He'd killed his own father. He'd killed men who deserved it. But this time, it felt different.He didn't want to do it.He'd stood there, his finger on the trigger, his hand trembling. He'd listened to Donald's apologies, his regrets, his broken words. He'd seen the fear in his eyes. And he'd pulled the trigger anyway.He stood abruptly.He needed air. He needed to get out of this room, out of this hospital, away from the beeping monitors and the antiseptic smell. He walked through the automatic doors and stepped outside.The night air was cold against his skin. The parking lot was empty—just a few cars, a few streetli
Cassandra stared at the text.Congratulations on the baby. Too bad she won't live to see her first birthday.Her blood ran cold. Her hands trembled. Her heart stopped.She showed Dante. His face went pale—then dark with fury."He's not going to touch her," Dante said. His voice was ice. "I won't let him."---Dante made a decision.No more waiting. No more traps. He was going after Donald. Tonight. And this time, he wasn't coming back until Donald was dead or in custody.Cassandra insisted on coming.Dante refused. He told her it was too dangerous. He told her she needed to stay with Grace. He told her he couldn't risk her.She wouldn't back down."I'm not letting you face him alone," she said. "Not after what he said about Grace.""Cassandra—""I'm coming."They devised a strategy.Marco, Evan, Adrian, and Daniel would provide backup. Samantha would stay with Grace at the hospital. Dante and Cassandra would confront Donald together.---Evan tracked Donald to an abandoned warehouse o
Dante stared at the text."You want the records? Come and get them. Bring Cassandra. Or I'll release everything." His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists around the phone.Cassandra stood beside him, her hand on his arm. "What does it say?"He showed her.She read it twice. Her face went pale. "It's a trap.""I know.""But if you don't go—""He'll release the records." Dante's voice was flat. "Every crime. Every secret. Every murder. The Moretti name will be destroyed. And he'll keep hunting us."Cassandra insisted on coming.Dante refused. He told her it was too dangerous. He told her she needed to stay with Grace. He told her he couldn't risk her.She wouldn't back down."I'm not letting you walk into a trap alone," she said. "We face this together. Or not at all."Before Dante could respond, Grace's cry cut through the house.It wasn't her usual hungry wail. It was weak. Feeble. A thin, reedy sound that made Cassandra's blood run cold.She rushed to the nursery.Grace was p
Dante took Cassandra to look at properties by the lake.They'd been searching for weeks—ever since that night on the porch when he'd promised her a real home. He'd made calls, talked to real estate agents, narrowed down the list. Now, finally, they were here.The first house was too big. A sprawling mansion with more rooms than they could ever fill. Cassandra walked through it, her footsteps echoing against the marble floors, and shook her head."Too cold," she said. "Too empty."Dante nodded. He didn't argue.---The second house was too small.A tiny cabin with one bedroom and a kitchen that barely fit two people. Cassandra stood in the doorway, looking at the cramped space, and laughed."We'd kill each other within a week."Dante grinned. "Probably."---The third house was perfect.It was a small cottage on the edge of the water—wooden, warm, surrounded by trees. The paint was peeling. The floors creaked. The roof needed work. But it had something the other houses didn't.It had s
Cassandra stared at the photograph.It was Grace—sleeping in her crib, her tiny fists curled against her chest, her face peaceful. The photograph was taken from outside the window. From the garden. From the darkness.Her blood ran cold.She showed Dante. His face went pale. His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides."Who sent this?" he demanded."I don't know." Her voice was shaking. "There's no return address. No name. Nothing."Dante ordered a full security sweep.Marco and his men searched the property—the garden, the fence line, the trees. They found footprints outside the nursery window. Fresh. Someone had been there. Recently.Dante doubled the security. Tripled it. He told Cassandra she wasn't to leave the house. No exceptions.She didn't argue.---Evan dug into the letter that afternoon.He examined the handwriting. The paper. The photograph. He cross-referenced everything with old files, old records, old enemies.He found something.A name. Someone connecte
Grace wouldn't sleep.She'd been crying for hours—not the soft, hungry cry from before, but a piercing, relentless wail that seemed to echo through the entire house. Cassandra had tried everything. Feeding. Changing. Rocking. Singing. Nothing worked.She was exhausted. Her body still ached from the birth. Her eyes burned with fatigue. Her mind was foggy.Dante was beside her, just as exhausted. He'd been taking turns with her—walking Grace around the room, singing softly, begging her to sleep. His voice was hoarse. His eyes were red."She hates us," he muttered."She doesn't hate us. She's a baby.""She's a tyrant."---At 5 AM, Cassandra broke down.She was sitting on the floor of the nursery, her back against the wall, tears streaming down her face. Grace was still crying in her arms. The sound was like a knife through her skull."I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't. I'm not strong enough."Dante found her there. He sat beside her, his back against the wall, his shoulder brush







