THE NIGHT I WOKE A SLEEPING EMPIRE

"Claret?" Vincent's voice was tight with pain, but his eyes were sharp, tracking my every movement from the cot. "What did you find?"

I couldn't speak. I just stared at the name on the crisp, yellowing paper. Sofia Vela.

I had no siblings. My mother had died when I was an infant. Nona Katarina had raised me alone. So who was Sofia?

I carried the velvet box to the cot, dropping to my knees beside Vincent. I handed him the birth certificate. He scanned it, his brow furrowing.

"Eight years ago," he murmured, doing the math. He looked at me, his dark eyes wide. "Claret. Your grandmother didn't just hide you. She hid another generation."

"I don't have a child, Vincent," I said, my voice shaking. "I've never been pregnant."

He sifted through the hospital records beneath the certificate. "These are adoption papers. Medical transfers. Nona Katarina orchestrated this." He pulled out a worn, folded piece of loose-leaf paper.

It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on paper. It showed a tall, rounded woman holding hands with a little girl. Above the tall woman, in messy childhood scrawl, were the words: Auntie Claret.

Tears pricked my eyes. The tall woman was me. But I had never met this child.

"My mother didn't die in that car crash," I whispered, the horrifying realization washing over me. "She survived. She survived long enough to have another child... my sister."

Vincent’s jaw tightened. "And Salvatore found her."

It all made sickening sense. Salvatore hadn't stopped hunting. Eight years ago, my mother was finally tracked down and killed. But Nona Katarina had managed to secret the baby away, hiding her in the one place Salvatore wouldn't look—the foster system, under an assumed name, waiting until it was safe to unite us.

"We have to find her," I said, my voice hardening. The fear was gone. The insecurity that had plagued me my entire life vanished, replaced by the fierce, territorial blood of the mountain women. "If Beatrice knows who I am, Salvatore knows about Sofia. That key—" I pointed to the heavy iron key in the box. "It belongs to a safe deposit box at the First City Bank downtown. I remember Nona taking me there once."

Vincent tried to sit up, wincing as the makeshift bandage strained against his wound. "I'm coming with you."

"You can barely stand," I argued, pushing him gently back down by his broad shoulders. The physical contact sent a jolt through me, but I ignored it. "You need to rest. Let me go."

"I am not letting you walk into the city alone," Vincent said, his hand coming up to cover mine. His skin was warm. "You are the head of the Vela family now, Claret. You are a queen without an army. You need me."

I looked at our intertwined hands. "You're a Russo. Why are you doing this? Why betray your own father for a waitress?"

Vincent held my gaze. "Because my father is a monster who ruined my life, just like he ruined yours. And because you are not just a waitress, Claret. You're the only real thing in my world."

The heavy wooden door at the top of the basement stairs suddenly rattled.

We froze.

Heavy footsteps creaked on the floorboards above us. Someone had found the bakery.

Vincent reached for his gun, but I put a hand over his wrist. "Save your strength," I whispered.

I stood up, my eyes scanning the basement. My grandmother had taught me how to make cannoli, yes. But she had also taught me how to use my environment.

I picked up a heavy, cast-iron flour sifter, wrapping the leather strap tightly around my knuckles. I moved to the bottom of the stairs, pressing myself against the stone wall. I was silent. I was a shadow.

The basement door clicked open. A sliver of light cut through the gloom, followed by the slow, deliberate descent of a pair of expensive boots.

It was Lorenzo. My grandfather’s underboss.

He had a suppressed pistol in his right hand. In his left hand, clamped tightly against his side, was a little girl with dark curls, a gag over her mouth.

She wore a delicate silver bracelet.

Sofia.

I stopped breathing.

Lorenzo reached the bottom of the stairs. He didn't see me. He saw Vincent bleeding on the cot.

"Well, well, well," Lorenzo purred, leveling his gun at Vincent's head. "The prodigal son and the little rat. Where's the fat bitch, Vincent? The Don wants her tongue on a silver platter."

"Put the girl down, Lorenzo," Vincent rasped, his eyes flicking to me for a fraction of a second before locking back on the underboss.

"I don't think so," Lorenzo smirked. "This little piece of leverage is going to buy me the entire North Side."

He stepped forward. He made the mistake of shifting his weight onto his left foot, right into my striking distance.

I didn't hesitate. I swung the iron sifter with the force of a freight train, catching Lorenzo squarely behind the knee.

Bone snapped.

Lorenzo screamed, his leg giving out. As he fell, he dropped Sofia. I caught the little girl, pulling her behind my massive frame, shielding her entirely from the room.

Before Lorenzo could raise his gun, Vincent fired a single shot. The bullet took Lorenzo in the shoulder, pinning him to the stone floor.

I spun around, kneeling in front of the terrified little girl. I pulled the gag from her mouth. She was shaking, her large brown eyes wide with terror.

"It's okay," I whispered in the mountain dialect, my voice soft and lyrical. "You're safe now. I'm Auntie Claret."

Sofia stared at me. Then, slowly, she reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper and handed it to me.

It was a faded ticket stub from the Chicago World’s Fair.

"Nona said... if I ever met you," Sofia whispered, her voice trembling, "I should give you this."