Dominic did not answer his phone.

He stared at the screen as it slid an inch to the left, vibrating against the polished wood.

“Marco,” Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave. “Is that her?”

Marco shifted his weight, his hand resting near his jacket lapel.

“It is one of the estate cars, sir,” Marco said. “Registered to the security pool. I did not authorize its dispatch.”

I pulled Lucia’s arms through the sleeves of her coat.

She whimpered slightly, sensing the sudden change in the air.

“We have to go,” I said, my voice low and urgent.

Dominic looked down at Lucia.

The restaurant’s amber chandelier caught her eyes.

They were the exact shade of his own—a rare, pale gray that looked like ice in the winter.

He saw it. I knew he did.

The denial left his face all at once, replaced by a sudden, hollow pale.

“She is mine,” he whispered.

“She is my daughter,” I said, standing up and pulling the hood over Lucia’s head. “And right now, she is in danger because of your family.”