“I will come to you there,” he said. “Tomorrow morning. I want to see her.”

I hesitated, looking at his eyes, then at our daughter.

“Only if you are alone,” I said.

“I will be,” he promised.

He turned to Marco, his expression hardening.

“While you are keeping them safe, I want you to run a full sweep,” Dominic said.

“On whom, sir?”

“My mother,” Dominic said. “Find out who she has spoken to in the last forty-eight hours. Check her call logs, her visitor logs at the estate, and her bank transactions.”

“I will get on it immediately,” Marco said.

“And find out if she has contacted Judge Whitmore,” Dominic added.

I felt a chill at the mention of the judge’s name.

Whitmore was the man who had signed the custody threat letters five years ago.

“Go,” Dominic told us.

Marco led the way toward the rear of the dining room.

I held Lucia tight against my hip, her legs wrapped around my waist.

She buried her face in my neck, her breath warm against my skin.