Damon took a slow, hesitant step forward, his eyes never leaving the boy’s face.

“Nora,” Damon whispered.

His voice was no longer steady.

“He is four years old,” I said, stepping quickly around the counter to block his path.

I put my hands on Leo’s shoulders, pulling him tight against my apron.

Damon stared at my hands on the boy, his breathing shallow.

“You had my son,” Damon said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “You kept him from me.”

“He is my son,” I corrected him, my voice trembling with anger. “You have no part in this life.”

One of Damon’s security guards stepped inside the door, holding a black tablet.

“Sir,” the guard said, keeping his eyes on the floor. “We have the county property records for this building.”

Damon did not look back at the man.

“What about them?” Damon asked, his eyes still fixed on Leo’s face.

“The building is owned entirely by Marlene Russo,” the guard said. “She has several outstanding municipal liens and an unresolved zoning issue on the kitchen extension.”

I felt Marlene shrink back behind the curtain.