The silk robe was still hanging on the back of the armchair in the grand study, leaving behind a heavy trail of Bulgarian rose perfume. Valentina was gone, but her disappearance spoke louder than any confession.

Rocco sprinted back up the steep stone path toward the burning mansion, holding Leo’s hand on his left and keeping Sophia close on his right. Elena Bellini was waiting at the mouth of the tunnel, crying hysterically as she pulled her daughter into a fierce hug.

"Thank God, thank God," Elena sobbed, kissing Sophia’s forehead.

"Mama, the baby!" Sophia urged. "Where is the baby?"

"He's safe in the armored SUV with the guards," Elena reassured her.

Rocco looked at the blaze engulfing the west wing of his estate. The fire wasn't spreading like a normal structural fire; it was burning in specific, controlled points—the library, the administrative vault, and the server room where the backup security feeds were stored.

Someone was systematically destroying evidence.

"Marco, who was left inside the main house?" Rocco demanded into his radio headset.

Static.

"Marco, report!"

A voice came through the earpiece, but it wasn't Marco’s. It was a smooth, elderly voice that Rocco hadn't heard in nearly a decade.

"Hello, my son."

Rocco’s blood turned to ice. He stopped dead in his tracks on the driveway.

"Father?" Rocco whispered, his voice shaking with disbelief. "You're... you're dead. I buried you seven years ago."

A cold chuckle echoed through the radio speaker. "A heart attack is very easy to fake when you own the hospital, Rocco. You were always too sentimental. You cared about honor, legacy, love. This business doesn't survive on love. It survives on leverage."

"You burnt my home. You stole my wife. You threw my son into the trash!" Rocco raged into the radio, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his pistol.

"The baby wasn't supposed to end up in the trash," the old man replied calmly. "That was Dr. Vance’s sloppy work. The child was meant to be transferred to the syndicate vault in Geneva. A bargaining chip to keep Isabella’s family in line. But your maid's little girl interfered."

Rocco looked down at Sophia, who was listening intently, her eyes wide with sharp intelligence.

"Where are you, Don Antonio?" Rocco demanded.

"I'm where I've always been, Rocco. At the head of the table. If you want your wife back, and if you want to keep your boy alive, you'll bring the newborn and the maid's daughter to St. Helena's wing at midnight. Come alone. If I see a single one of your guards, Isabella’s life support gets disconnected."

The line clicked dead.

Rocco threw the radio onto the asphalt, smashing it beneath his boot. He stood in the pouring rain, watching his empire burn, surrounded by the remnants of a decade of lies.

Leo held Rocco's sleeve tightly. "Are you really my dad?" the boy asked softly, his voice trembling.

Rocco dropped to one knee, looking into the eyes of the boy who had his late wife's spirit. He gently reached out and cupped Leo's cheek.

"I am, Leo," Rocco said, his voice choking with emotion. "I swear on my life, I will never let anyone hurt you again."

Sophia stepped forward, holding her wet notebook out to Rocco.

"Mr. Rocco," she said, flipping to a page near the back. "Before the fire started, I saw a large black van park near the side gate. It had a logo on the door. I drew it."

Rocco looked down at the page. Sophia had sketched a detailed crest: a silver snake wrapped around a broken sword.

It wasn't the crest of St. Helena Hospital.

It was the private seal of the Valenti Family—the rival syndicate that controlled the northern ports, and the family of Valentina's father.

"They aren't taking Isabella to the hospital," Rocco realized, his eyes narrowing with icy clarity. "The hospital was a distraction. They're taking her to the Valenti docks."

Rocco turned to Elena and her daughter. "Elena, take Leo and the baby to the underground bunker beneath the city church. My most loyal men will guard you."

"What about you, Don Rocco?" Elena asked nervously.