THE EMPTY SEAT AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE

The collective breath of the room vanished. The capos, men who had seen decades of brutal street wars, froze in place. A nine-year-old boy was aiming a loaded firearm at the head of the Leone family.

“Drop the gun, kid,” Vinnie said, his hands raised in surrender, not wanting to startle the boy.

Matteo stood perfectly still. He didn't look angry; he looked heartbroken. The boy’s dark eyes—so fiercely reminiscent of Elena’s—were wide with terror, his small hands trembling under the heavy weight of the black pistol.

“Son,” Matteo said, his voice incredibly soft, holding his palms open to show he meant no harm. “You don't want to do this. I am your family. I am your uncle.”

“You're a liar!” the boy shouted, tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. “The man at the hotel said the Leones took her! He said you locked her away!”

I glanced at Harlan. The underboss was still on the floor, rubbing his bruised throat. A dark, twisted realization dawned on me. Harlan hadn't just hidden the boy; he had poisoned his mind against his own family.

Mr. Price, still holding Lily tightly to his chest, looked up at the boy. “Put it down, son,” the old man rumbled gently. “You’re in a room full of dangerous men. But the man you’re pointing that at? He’s the only one trying to save you right now.”

The boy’s hands shook harder. The gun dipped slightly.

That was all Matteo needed. With lightning speed that belied his age, Matteo stepped forward, sweeping the gun out of the boy’s hands with a gentle but firm motion. He immediately clicked the safety on and slipped the weapon into his own coat pocket.

The boy collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Matteo knelt down in front of him. He didn’t touch the boy right away. He just stayed at his eye level.

“What is your name?” Matteo asked quietly.

“Leo,” the boy choked out.

“Leo,” Matteo repeated, the name catching in his throat. “Leo, I swear to you on my life, I did not hurt your mother. I have been looking for her for ten years.”

Matteo turned his furious gaze back to Harlan.

“You told him we took her,” Matteo sneered. “You kept him locked up in a hotel, feeding him lies, while you used him and Leonard’s granddaughter as leverage. Where is Elena, Owen? If she ran, where did she go?”

Harlan spat blood onto the hardwood floor. “I told you, I don’t know! She ran away nine years ago when she realized I wouldn't leave my wife for her. She took the baby. The only reason I have the kid now is because my guys grabbed him off the street two days ago when they grabbed the girl!”

“Liar!” I shouted.

The word left my mouth before I could stop it. The entire room turned to stare at me. I was just a server in a black uniform and a white apron, but my blood was boiling.

Matteo looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn't stop me. “Speak, Alice.”

I pointed at the ruined table. “Celia’s folder. When we were arguing about the seating chart, I saw her notes.”

I ran to the sideboard where Celia had left her leather-bound planning folder. I flipped it open. Inside, behind the seating charts and menu plans, was a stack of receipts.

“Celia handles all the estate’s catering and event supplies,” I said, pulling out a handful of crinkled receipts. “But look at these. Weekly deliveries to an address on the north side. A private residence. Groceries, children’s clothing, medical supplies.”

I walked over and handed the receipts to Matteo.

“These go back three years,” I said. “Paid for out of the event budget. Celia has been supplying a safe house.”

Matteo scanned the receipts, his jaw tight. He looked at Harlan.

Harlan’s face drained of all color. He looked absolutely horrified, but not because he was caught. He looked horrified because he genuinely didn't seem to know.

“I didn't authorize that,” Harlan whispered. “I swear, Matteo. I didn't know about any safe house. Celia… Celia was skimming from me too.”

Matteo stared at him. Then, he looked toward the side door where his men had dragged the party planner.

“Bring her back,” Matteo ordered coldly.

Two minutes later, Celia was thrown back into the dining room. She hit the floor hard, weeping.

Matteo didn't yell. He walked over to her and dropped the stack of grocery receipts onto the floor in front of her face.

“Three years, Celia,” Matteo said softly. “You’ve been keeping a safe house on the north side. Who is in it?”

Celia looked up, her mascara running down her cheeks in black rivers. She looked at Harlan, then at Matteo, and finally at the little boy, Leo, who was watching her with wide eyes.

“I… I found her,” Celia sobbed.

The room went perfectly still.

“Found who?” Matteo demanded.

“Elena,” Celia cried out, burying her face in her hands. “She didn't run away from Owen. She ran away from you, Matteo! She knew about the syndicate. She wanted Leo to have a normal life. I found her three years ago living under an assumed name. She begged me not to tell you.”

Matteo staggered backward as if he had been punched. “My sister is alive?”

Celia nodded frantically. “Yes. But… but she’s sick, Matteo. She’s very sick. That’s why I’ve been sending the supplies. Medical care. I was trying to help her!”

“If you were helping her,” I interrupted, my voice trembling but loud, “then why did Harlan’s men have her son locked in a hotel room?”

Celia froze. Her eyes darted wildly around the room.

“Because,” Harlan suddenly laughed, a harsh, grating sound from the floor. “Because Celia isn't a saint. She didn't keep Elena a secret out of the goodness of her heart. She kept her a secret so she could blackmail her.”

Matteo grabbed Celia by the shoulders, hauling her to her feet. “Is that true? You’ve been extorting my dying sister?”

“I needed the money!” Celia screamed. “Owen was bleeding the accounts dry! If I didn't replace the money I took, you would have killed me! Elena gave me whatever she had left from her trust fund just to keep me quiet!”

Matteo threw Celia to the floor in absolute disgust.

He looked at Leo. The boy was staring at Celia with pure hatred.

“Leo,” Matteo said gently. “Where is your mother right now?”

The boy sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “She’s at the house on the north side. She was sleeping when the men came and took me.”

Matteo turned to his capos. “Get the cars. We’re going to the north side.”

“Matteo, wait,” Mr. Price said suddenly.

The old man was pointing at the crumpled valet ticket still resting on the table.

“If Harlan’s men grabbed the boy two days ago,” Mr. Price said slowly, his sharp mind working, “and Harlan parked at the Arcadia tonight… why did he need the keys to the private vault today? What was in that wooden box that was so important he had to steal it tonight?”

Matteo stopped. He looked at Harlan, who had suddenly gone very, very quiet.

“The birth certificate,” Matteo said. “You needed proof of the boy’s lineage.”