“Mr. Valenti,” the man in the overcoat said, his voice dropping an octave.

“Your mother indicated you were in agreement with this action.”

“My mother does not speak for me,” Dominic said.

He took his phone out.

The screen lit up with a green confirmation code.

“And as of ten seconds ago, the state supreme court has issued a stay on all proceedings regarding my daughter.”

The social worker’s phone began to ring in her pocket.

She frowned, reaching for it.

I didn’t wait to see her expression.

I dropped to my knees behind the shelf.

Lucia was curled into a small ball under the wooden table, her face buried in her green sweater.

Her dark curls were damp from the rain outside.

“Lucia,” I whispered.

She looked up.

Her eyes, the striking, brilliant Valenti blue, were wide with terror.

“Mommy,” she whispered.

I reached out and pulled her into my arms, holding her so tight I could feel her little heart racing against my collarbone.

Behind us, the social worker’s voice was sharp.

“This is highly irregular,” she said.

“It is legal,” Dominic’s voice answered, cold as ice.