All Chapters of THE DON'S MISSING PIECE : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Dante stared at Evan, his gun raised, his heart pounding.Evan stood frozen in the doorway, his hands up, his face pale. The dim light from the cabin cast shadows across his features—shadows that made him look older, wearier."It's not what you think," Evan said quickly. "I'm not the traitor."Dante didn't lower his gun. "Then what are you doing here?""I came to warn you." Evan's voice was urgent, desperate. "I found out who the traitor is. It's not me. It's—"A gunshot shattered the night.Evan dropped to the ground.Dante spun around, searching for the shooter. A figure disappeared into the darkness—a shadow, a whisper, gone before he could identify it.Cassandra ran out of the safe room, her face white. "What happened?"Dante was already on his knees beside Evan, pressing his hand to the wound in his brother's shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and sticky."He's been shot. We need to get him help. Now."---They got Evan to a safe location—a private clinic Dante owne

Adrian's call hung in the air like a death sentence.Cassandra couldn't sleep. She paced the safe house, her bare feet silent against the cold floor, her mind racing. Another traitor. Someone closer than she thought. Someone who knew about the locket, the ring, the evidence.Dante sat at the small table, his laptop open, his jaw tight. He'd been working for hours—pulling up old financial records, cross-referencing accounts, following trails that led nowhere and everywhere at once."You need to rest," he said without looking up."I can't." She stopped pacing, her arms wrapped around herself. "Someone in our circle is working with Marcus Kane. Someone who knows everything. How am I supposed to sleep knowing that?"Dante didn't answer. He just kept typing.---Hours passed.Cassandra dozed off on the sofa, her body finally giving in to exhaustion. When she woke, the sun was rising, and Dante was still at the table. But his expression had changed. His face was pale, his hands trembling sl

Cassandra couldn't stop thinking about the money.The account. The trust. The letter from her mother. It all felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. Grace had set it up—but where had the money come from? A woman on the run, hiding from powerful enemies, wouldn't have had access to that kind of wealth. Someone else had to be involved.She asked Dante over breakfast. He didn't know either. But he promised to find out.---He started digging that same day.He called in favors—old contacts, financial advisors, people who owed him. He pulled bank records, traced deposits, followed trails that led nowhere and everywhere at once. Hours turned into days.Cassandra watched him work, her heart heavy with gratitude and guilt. He was doing this for her. For her mother. For a woman he'd never met.On the third day, he found something.He was sitting at the small table in the safe house, his laptop open, his brow furrowed. Cassandra was in the kitchen, making tea. She heard him inhale sharply."Wha

Cassandra stared at the photograph in her hands.Her and Samantha—young, laughing, arms wrapped around each other. They couldn't have been more than fifteen. It was taken at a carnival, the lights blurring behind them, their faces bright with joy.She didn't remember the moment. She didn't remember who took the picture. But Marcus Kane had it. He'd been watching her even then.Dante took the photograph from her hands, his jaw tight."He's trying to scare you," he said quietly. "To isolate you. To make you feel like you're surrounded by enemies."Cassandra looked up at him. "Isn't that exactly what's happening?""No." He cupped her face. "He wants you to think that. But he's the one who's running out of time. He's the one who's desperate."She wanted to believe him. She really did.---The summons came that afternoon.A call from the mansion. Vincent wanted to see them. A family dinner. Dante refused at first—he wanted nothing to do with his father after everything. But Cassandra took

Cassandra stood frozen in the doorway of the café.The man sitting beside Adrian had her eyes. Her nose. Her chin. He was older—gray streaked through his dark hair, lines etched around his eyes—but the resemblance was unmistakable. It was like looking into a mirror that showed her future."Cassandra," Adrian said softly, rising from his chair. "This is Daniel. Your father."Her father.The word felt foreign. Wrong. She'd spent her whole life believing her father was dead—a man she'd never known, a loss she'd mourned without ever understanding. And now here he was. Alive. Real. Sitting across from her like a ghost made flesh.She didn't move.Daniel stood slowly, his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes—her eyes—were filled with something she couldn't name. Regret. Longing. Love. It was too much. It was everything."I know this is a shock," he said, his voice quiet, careful. "I know you have questions. I'll answer all of them. But first—" He paused. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."---Ca