“My men picked them both up half an hour ago.”

“You had no right to do that without telling me,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“I did what was necessary to keep her alive,” he replied simply.

He guided me out of the office and down the private elevator to the garage.

A black SUV was waiting, the engine idling in the shadows.

We drove through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago in silence.

The city lights blurred against the wet glass of the passenger window.

We stopped at a towering luxury high-rise overlooking the dark, turbulent expanse of Lake Michigan.

The lobby was all polished black marble and quiet security guards who bowed their heads as Dante passed.

The private elevator took us directly to the penthouse floor.

Inside, the apartment was vast, minimalist, and smelled of polished wood and clean linen.

Mrs. Patel was sitting on a white leather sofa, holding a sleeping Lily in her arms.

“They were very polite, Sophia,” Mrs. Patel whispered, looking around the grand room with wide eyes.

“They said it was a temporary security measure.”