I pressed the screen to answer it.

“Elena,” a voice said.

It was Caterina.

“Elena,” a voice said. It was Caterina.

My heart stopped for a beat.

I pressed the phone closer to my ear, my knuckles turning white.

“What do you want, Caterina?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

In the seat beside me, Lucia looked up, her blue eyes wide with innocent curiosity.

I placed a hand over her ear, pressing her head gently against my shoulder.

“I want what belongs to this family,” Caterina said.

Her voice was thin and dry, like old paper.

“Lucia is my daughter,” I said, looking out the window at the gray Manhattan streets.

“She is a Valenti,” Caterina replied.

“She has the blood, the name, and the eyes.”

“You have nothing.”

On the other end of the line, I heard the sound of heavy oak doors groaning open.

The background noise shifted, filling with the echo of a vast, vaulted ceiling.

“Dominic,” Caterina said, her voice turning away from the receiver.

“You look tired.”

I held my breath.

Dominic was there, at the estate.