A hotel cleaner found a freezing six-month-old baby inside a dumpster at 2:51 a.m.—then discovered the terrifying crest hanging around her neck.

When Lorenzo finally stood up, holding Mia securely in the crook of his left arm, the vulnerability vanished, replaced once more by the terrifying authority of the Moretti patriarch.

"Pack your things," Lorenzo said, picking up the platinum medallion from the table and sliding it into his pocket.

Elena blinked. "What? No. I... I have a job, Mr. Moretti. I have to work tomorrow at six."

Lorenzo looked at her as if she had just suggested flying to the moon. "You do not work at that hotel anymore, Miss Vance. You will never clean another room for the rest of your life."

"You can't just order me around!" Elena snapped, her foster-care survival instincts flaring up. "I helped your daughter because it was the right thing to do! Not because I wanted to be owned by the mob!"

Lorenzo didn't get angry. A faint, razor-thin smile touched the corner of his lips. "You have courage. That is rare." The smile vanished. "Now listen to me carefully, Elena. The people who took my daughter are not strangers. They are people inside my organization. They know someone took Mia from that alley. By now, they know my cars were parked on this street. Within two hours, they will have your name."

Elena’s breath caught in her throat.

"If you stay here, you will be dead before sunset," Lorenzo continued, his voice brutally practical. "Not because of what you did, but because you are a witness. They will torture you to find out what you saw, and then they will leave your body in the marshlands. You are coming with me. Not as a prisoner. As my guest. And as the woman who holds my eternal debt."

Before Elena could argue, Mia started fussing. The baby squirmed in Lorenzo’s unfamiliar grip, her lower lip trembling. She turned her head, saw Elena, and reached out her little arms, letting out a sharp, distressed wail.

"Mama," Mia babbling-cried, grabbing at Elena’s oversized sweater. "Ma-ma!"

Elena’s heart twisted. Lorenzo froze, staring at his daughter, then at Elena.

"She has bonded with you," Lorenzo said softly. "She doesn't know me yet. She spent her worst night with you."

Elena stepped forward and took Mia back into her arms. The baby instantly stopped crying, resting her head against Elena's collarbone with a wet sniffle.

Lorenzo watched them, something deep and unreadable flickering in his amber eyes.

"Grab your identification and your coat," Lorenzo said quietly. "We are leaving."

Ten minutes later, Elena was sitting in the back of an armored Maybach, flanked by Lorenzo Moretti. The tinted glass blocked out the world as the motorcade swept onto the Queensboro Bridge, speeding toward Manhattan with police escorts clearing the intersections.

"Where are we going?" Elena asked, clutching Mia tightly.

"The Moretti estate in Bedford," Lorenzo replied, tapping a message into his phone. "A fortress. No one enters or leaves without my personal clearance. There, a pediatric team is already waiting to examine Mia."

"And what happens to the people who did this?" Elena asked.

Lorenzo finished typing, locked his phone, and looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline.