Chapter 1 - The Blood Between Brothers
Vincent stood frozen against the sleek frame of his black SUV, his tailored Italian coat hanging open in the crisp autumn wind. His knuckles were pale where he gripped the open car door, his eyes locked onto the toddler clinging to my tattooed forearm. For four long years, Vincent had played the grieving brother, matching me drink for drink on the anniversaries of Isabella’s disappearance, swearing on our mother’s soul that he had been ambushed, beaten unconscious, and left in an alley while rival syndicates dragged my pregnant wife away into the dark.
Now, a girl no older than three was screaming into my chest, her tiny fingers digging through my custom charcoal wool jacket with feral terror. ""Daddy, bad man! Bad man hide mommy in dark room!""
""Dominic,"" Vincent called out across the crowded avenue, forcing a stiff, practiced chuckle that cracked at the edges. ""What on earth is going on? Did a street brat dart into traffic? Marco, call emergency services. Let city workers handle the stray.""
The word hit me like raw venom. Stray.
""Step back, Vincent,"" I commanded, my voice dropping into that subterranean gravel that made captains across five boroughs drop to their knees. I lifted the little girl into my arms. She weighed almost nothing, light as a sparrow, her face buried into the crook of my neck where my pulse hammered against my skin. ""Marco, lock the perimeter. Anyone who takes a step within ten paces gets put down where they stand.""
Marco and my personal detail clicked their sidearms free beneath their suits without blinking. Vincent took half a step back, his facade slipping, his eyes flicking frantically from the child's lavender backpack to the golden butterfly necklace resting against her chest. He knew that pendant. He was there the night in Milan when I bought it, laughing as I had my family crest etched in microscopic lettering along the left wingtip.
""Dominic, brother, listen to reason,"" Vincent pleaded, raising both palms as my enforcers fanned out along the sidewalk. ""You hit a kid. You're rattled. Let me take her to St. Jude’s while you head to the warehouse. We have that shipment coming in from Palermo. You can't afford a scandal on Fifth Avenue right now.""
""Look at her, Vincent,"" I whispered, walking toward him. Every step felt like walking through crushed glass. The little girl whimpered, tightening her grip around my collar, hiding her face in my shoulder. ""Look at her eyes. Look at her jawline. Tell me who she looks like.""
""She’s just a kid, Dom! A runaway! You’re seeing ghosts because you never buried Isabella!"" Vincent shouted, but his gaze dropped, refusing to hold mine. Sweat beaded beneath his trimmed hairline despite the chill. ""You're losing your mind. The syndicate won't tolerate a boss who hallucinates his dead wife in every gutter.""
""If you ever speak her name with that tongue again, I will cut it out and feed it to the hounds at my estate,"" I said, cold fury settling deep into my bones. ""You were supposed to protect her. You swore on our father’s grave that night. But she just said you put her mother in a dark room.""
""She's three years old! Kids repeat nonsense from cartoons!"" Vincent barked, his voice rising in panic. He reached toward his inside coat pocket—a habit he only showed when he was cornered and desperate.
Marco stepped forward instantly, the muzzle of his suppressed pistol grazing Vincent's temple before my brother could even clear his holster. ""Hands flat on the roof, Mr. Vincent. You know the boss's rules.""
""I am his brother!"" Vincent snarled, humiliated, pressing his hands against the warm metal of his SUV. ""Dominic, you're siding with a beggar child over your own blood?""
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I pulled the crumpled photograph out of my pocket, turning it over to reread the ink that was undeniably Isabella’s: IF YOU FIND HIM, CALL HIM DADDY.
""My blood,"" I murmured, staring at the little girl whose heartbeat was thumping against my ribs, ""is the only thing that matters today. Get in my car, little princess. We're going home. And Vincent? You're coming to the estate. In handcuffs.""
