Hours before I was supposed to propose to another woman, I found four six-year-old boys in a restaurant bathroom who looked exactly like me. That encounter was about to shatter the future two powerful families had arranged for me. But the most disturbing discovery was still waiting just outside the door.

By 4:00 p.m., the financial news was a wildfire. *VINCENZO MORETTI OUSTED IN SENSATIONAL BOARDROOM COUP; FEDERAL SECURITIES PROBE LAUNCHED.*

The shares of Moretti Enterprises had dipped initially, but surged by late afternoon as Wall Street celebrated the removal of an unpredictable patriarch and the stabilization of the firm under my leadership.

I took the private elevator down to the underground parking garage beneath the tower, where a black armored SUV was waiting to take me back to the Four Seasons. I couldn't wait to see Clara. I couldn't wait to hold my sons without the suffocating shadow of my family’s past hanging over our heads.

As I approached the vehicle, Frank stepped out from the passenger seat, his phone pressed against his ear. His expression made my stomach drop into a bottomless pit.

"Dominic," Frank said, his voice shaking.

"What happened?" I demanded, fear spiking my adrenaline. "Is it Clara? The boys?"

"The penthouse," Frank said, lowering the phone. "Ten minutes ago. A coordinated assault by private contractors. They used smoke canisters in the hallway, disabled our secondary team with stun weapons, and breached the suite."

The world seemed to stop spinning. The concrete walls of the garage tilted violently.

"Clara?" My voice was a roar that bounced off the low ceiling.

"She fought them," Frank said rapidly, rushing to hold my arm as I almost lunged forward. "She managed to barricade herself in the master bathroom with Theo and Nate. But Julian and Leo... Dominic, they grabbed Julian and Leo. They took them out through the service elevator."

"Where?" I grabbed Frank by the collar of his tactical jacket, slamming him against the armored SUV. "WHERE ARE THEY?!"

"A black Mercedes van. Tracking transponders picked it up moving north toward the North Shore. Dominic... it’s not Enzo's usual security firm. It's Donovan Vance’s private mercenaries. The old man went completely scorched earth. He knows he's going to prison. He’s running for his private yacht at the Gloucester marina."

A red haze descended over my vision.

The old bastard hadn't called defense attorneys. He had realized that without the children, he had no leverage, no escape, and no future. He was taking my boys hostage to force me to drop the federal charges and fund his escape to a non-extradition country.

"Get in the car," I snarled, releasing Frank and ripping open the driver's side door of the SUV.

"Dominic, we need to call the State Police—"

"By the time the state police set up roadblocks, my sons will be in international waters!" I roared, keying the ignition. The high-performance V8 engine roared to life with a deafening growl. "Call the Coast Guard. Call Clara and tell her I am bringing our boys home. And call the Gloucester harbor master. Tell them that if Vincenzo Moretti’s yacht leaves the slip, I will burn the entire marina to the water."

Frank scrambled into the passenger seat, slamming the door just as I dropped the transmission into gear and floored the accelerator.