"He abandoned me in labor for his mistress's son—7 years later, he screamed 'DON'T!' as I held the mic beside his secret daughter."

Vincent took three fast, trembling steps toward me, falling flat onto his knees right on the plush carpet before my feet.

The feared Don of Chicago knelt flat on the floor, his hands clutching together in a frantic, groveling plea.

"Claire... my God... forgive me..." Vincent sobbed, pressing his forehead against the carpet near my heels. "I was a monster... I was blind! My father told me I needed a male heir to secure the syndicate leadership against the rival families... Sophia lied to me... she told me you didn't care about the family!"

I looked down at the man groveling at my feet with quiet, weightless pity.

"I didn't care about your syndicate, Vincent," I spoke softly, my voice quiet, flat, and absolute. "I cared about my husband. I cared about the man who promised to hold my hand when our child was born."

Vincent raised his weeping face, looking up into my hazel eyes with bloodshot, desperate pleas.

"I will tear down the syndicate, Claire!" Vincent swore frantically, reaching his shaking hand toward my dress. "I will go legitimate! I will spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness! Just let me hold Emily... let me hear her call me 'Dad' once!"

I took one deliberate step backward, pulling my silk dress out of his reach.

"She called her grandfather 'Dad,' Vincent," I revealed, every word dropped into the quiet room like a final, unbroken truth. "She does not know who you are. And she does not need a father who walked out on her before she even opened her eyes."

Vincent let out a guttural, agonizing shriek of heartbreak, burying his face in his hands on the carpet floorboards.

Before he could speak again, my encrypted smartphone vibrated on the coffee table.

It was an urgent satellite security dispatch from my private intelligence director, Marcus.

I picked up the phone. "Claire," Marcus's sharp voice echoed over the speaker. "Sophia Reynolds and Don Marco Genovese have just dispatched eight armed hitmen to the South Side commercial warehouse. They believe Vincent is inside. They plan to execute him and make it look like a rival syndicate hit so Lucas inherits the primary estate."

Vincent’s head snapped up from the floorboards, his storm-gray eyes wide with shock as he heard the dispatch over the speaker.