“I am so sorry, Elena,” he said, looking up at me.

Just then, his security chief, Marco, stepped quickly into the restaurant.

Marco’s face was grim, his eyes darting toward the street outside.

He walked straight to our table and leaned down to Dominic’s ear.

“Sir, we have a problem,” Marco said.

Before he could finish, Dominic’s phone on the table began to buzz.

The screen lit up, vibrating against the polished wood.

I saw the caller ID, and my blood ran cold.

It was a private number, but I recognized the digital signature of the Valenti estate line.

My hand shook as I grabbed Lucia’s small pink coat from the seat.

“She knows,” I whispered, pulling my daughter closer to me.

Dominic looked from the vibrating phone to my face.

“Who?” he asked.

“Your mother,” I said. “Caterina knows about Lucia, and she is already tracking us.”

At that exact moment, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up to the curb outside, its headlights cutting through the heavy rain.

The headlights reflected off the wet pavement, casting long, yellow ribs of light across our table.