I turned around, walking over to her and gently wrapping my arm around her shoulders. I looked down at the two tiny faces resting side by side—my blood, my future, and the continuation of a legacy that had survived the darkest betrayal imaginable.

"Understood, sir," Marcus barked, signaling the remaining guards.

Valentina shrieked as two guards grabbed her arms, her expensive silk robe tearing as she thrashed violently. "Lorenzo! You can't do this! You're making a mistake! Matteo is manipulating you—he wants you dead!"

"Take her away," I commanded, not even blinking as she was dragged down the marble corridor.

Matteo didn't fight. As the guards pinned his arms behind his back and shoved him toward the exit, he only offered me a grim, twisted smile. "Go ahead and look for her, brother. But when you find the truth across the lake, it will destroy whatever is left of your soul."

When the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, the grand hall felt eerily empty.

I looked down at the infant sleeping soundly on the sofa. Twelve years of ghosts, twelve years of empty cradles, twelve years of believing I was cursed by fate—all engineered by the two people closest to my heart.

I scooped the baby up, cradling him against my chest. Then I looked down at little Sophia, who was still standing by the grand staircase, clutching her red umbrella.

"Sophia," I said gently, crouching down to her eye level. "Can you take me to where you saw her? To the place across the lake?"

The little girl nodded slowly, her eyes wide with a maturity no eight-year-old should ever possess. "Yes, sir. Follow me. But we have to be quiet. The guards outside are loyal to Mr. Matteo."

"The guards outside answer to me," I replied coldly, drawing my 9mm pistol from my belt and checking the chamber. "Let's walk."

We bypassed the main gates and took the hidden underground tunnel that led from the mansion's wine cellar directly to the old forestry path behind the estate. The rain was turning into a torrential downpour, splashing mud against our boots as we crossed the iron suspension bridge leading to the abandoned lake house.

The lake house was a relic of the estate's darker history—a secluded stone cabin shrouded by weeping willows and iron-spiked fencing. It was the place where my grandfather used to interrogate rivals, long before our generation took over the family operations.

As we approached, I noticed a faint sliver of yellow light cutting through the boarded-up windows.

Someone was inside.

"Stay behind me," I whispered to Sophia, pressing her flat against the rotting wooden wall beside the heavy iron-reinforced door.

I raised my boot and kicked the door with maximum force.

Bang!

The rotted deadbolt splintered, and the door flew open, crashing against the interior stone wall.

I stepped inside, my weapon raised, sweeping the room in a fraction of a second. The air inside smelled of damp earth, old medicine, and burning paraffin wax.

In the center of the dilapidated room sat a single iron cot.

And sitting on the edge of the cot, wrapped in a threadbare grey woolen shawl, was a woman with hollow cheeks, haunting dark eyes, and long, tangled hair.

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of the hallway light.

My breath caught in my throat.

It wasn't Valentina.

It was Elena—Matteo’s first wife. The woman everyone in Europe believed had perished in the nursery fire twelve years ago.

She stared at me, her lips trembling, before her eyes drifted down to the infant bundled safely in my arms.