Chapter 3

I don't sit down.

"Those are mine," I say, looking at the papers on the desk. "Every one of them has my name on it."

My mother folds her hands. "Your name. On papers that belong to this mafia family. This family took you in, Riley. Don't forget that."

Borrowed.

Twenty-six years. They raised me since I was three months old. Birthdays, holidays, school plays. I called this woman Mom every single day of my life.

So that's what I am now. Not family. Property.

Elena touches a tissue to her eyes. She's wearing one of my old cashmere sweaters. The cream one I left in my closet last Christmas.

"I'm not trying to take anything from you," Elena says softly. "I just want what's fair. You had my life for twenty-six years. My parents. My home. My name. My protection." She pauses. "I had nothing."

I stare at her. She has practiced every word.

"I earned those shares," I say. "I worked for three years before I got a single—"

"Enough." My father's voice comes from the doorway behind me. He walks past without looking at me and stands next to my mother. "We've spoken to the consigliere. You'll sign tomorrow morning. The trusts, the family shares, the downtown apartment—all of it goes to Elena."

"And if I don't sign?"

He finally looks at me. "Then we take the paternity test to the Families. Julian's already given us a copy. Every Don in the city will hear what you did."

"It's fake," I say. "The test is fake. Julian admitted it."

My father's face doesn't change. "Do you have proof?"

No. I don't. I was standing in a dark hallway, alone.

"That's what I thought," he says.

Elena reaches across the desk and touches my hand. Her fingers are cold. "Riley, I know this is hard. But think of it as giving back what should've been mine. You can start fresh. You're strong. Everyone says so."

I pull my hand away.

I look at the three of them. My mother. My father. The stranger wearing my sweater.

"What about Sophie?" I ask.

My mother's mouth tightens. "What about her?"

"She's your granddaughter."

"She's from your marriage. Your problem. Not this family’s."

A child with no blood claim. No protection. That's what they mean.

I look at the desk one more time.

My whole life is spread out there.

Twenty-six years.

A stack of papers they want me to hand over to a woman I met six months ago.

"I'm not signing anything," I say.

I turn around and walk out.

My father calls after me. "You have until Friday, Riley. After that, we take it to court ourselves."

I don't answer.

I pick Sophie up from the couch. She stirs, wraps her arms around my neck.

"Mommy, are we going to Grandma's house?"

"We just left, baby."

"Oh." She rests her head on my shoulder. "Did Grandma give me a birthday present?"

My throat closes. "Not today. But I'll get you something better. I promise."

I carry her to the car. The porch light turns off behind us. My mother did that. Before I'm even out of the driveway.

I buckle Sophie in and sit behind the wheel.

No husband. No parents. No money. No home. No protection.

Julian froze the bank accounts. My parents are ready to strip me of everything. My best friend won't even answer my calls because she's scared of Julian.

I have a quarter tank of gas, a sleeping child, and the clothes on my back.

I open my contacts and scroll. Old friends. Former colleagues. People who owe me favors.

Not a single one of them will go against Julian. Not one.

My thumb stops on a name I haven't called in seven years.

Silas.

The man Julian once called "the only Don in this city who could ruin me."

The man I turned down seven years ago because the Hale family seemed safer.

I stare at the number. My finger hovers over the green button.

In the backseat, Sophie coughs. Then again. A rough, rattling cough that doesn't sound right.

I reach back and touch her forehead.

She's burning up.

I don't think anymore. My thumb hovers over Silas's name.

Then Sophie coughs again, harder this time.

I almost press call.

Then I stop.

I can still make it to a hospital.

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