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The antiseptic smell of the hospital room was starting to fray Dominic Moretti’s legendary patience. Less than twenty-four hours after cheating death on Fifth Avenue, he was already sitting upright in the motorized bed, an intravenous line trailing from his muscular forearm like a tether he fully intended to snap. / Chapter 14 / 20

Chapter 14 - The Sophia Carter FoundationTo honor Sophia’s memory and officially transition his remaining grey-market assets into fully audited, transparent global entities, Dominic hosted the inaugural annual gala for the Sophia Carter Pediatric Brain Research Foundation at the legendary Plaza Hotel in Manhattan.

The grand ballroom glittered under the illumination of three crystal chandeliers. Three hundred of New York’s elite—politicians, philanthropists, corporate titans, and society figures—mingled in expensive gowns and tailored tuxedos.

At the center of it all stood Dominic, wearing a sharp charcoal tuxedo, holding eight-year-old Lily’s hand as she greeted guests with the quiet grace of a true princess.

Unbeknownst to the security detail at the front doors, however, a shadow had slipped past the check-in lines.

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The sterile scent of antiseptic and bleach hit Dana the moment she crossed the hospital room threshold. Every instinct she had honed over decades of service—calmness under fire, methodical assessment, absolute control—threatened to fracture at the sight of her daughter. Sophie’s bruised wrist peeked out from beneath the pale hospital blanket, a silent testimony to a brutality that Dana’s mind refused to accept as accidental.

The sterile scent of antiseptic and bleach hit Dana the moment she cross...

The mahogany grandfather clock in the east corridor struck 2:03 AM. The champagne glasses had been cleared, the jazz band had packed their instruments, and the last of the high-society guests had vanished into the freezing Manhattan night, leaving behind the heavy scent of expensive perfume and melted candlewax.

The mahogany grandfather clock in the east corridor struck 2:03 AM. The...

The wail of police sirens tore through the heavy silence of the Hawthorne estate, cutting across the manicured lawns like a blade. Mara remained frozen on her side near the base of the grand staircase, her breath shallow, her hands trembling against the floorboards. She could hear the frantic pounding of heavy shoes racing up the drive, followed by the metallic click of car doors slamming shut. They were here.

The wail of police sirens tore through the heavy silence of the Hawthorn...

Dressed in an immaculate Italian suit and carrying a forged Swiss diplomatic passport, Lorenzo Rizzi walked casually into the crowded ballroom, blending effortlessly into the sea of high-society figures. He held a glass of champagne in one hand, his dark eyes scanning the room until they locked onto Dominic standing near the stage.

“Enjoy the party, Dominic,” Lorenzo whispered to himself, a cruel, venomous smile stretching across his lips. “It’s going to be your last.”

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