About

The air in the Rossi estate felt like lead. I stood in the center of the foyer, my arms tightening around Brooks as the sound of Jude’s men stomping upstairs with our luggage echoed through the house. "You can't do this, Jude," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. I wasn't just some grieving widow; I was a woman who had run operations for Jace Rossi before Brooks was even a thought. I knew how the mafia worked, and I knew exactly what this was: a power play. "I left the life when I got pregnant. I’m not a pawn in your family’s internal war." Jude stepped into my personal space, his shadow looming over me and Brooks. He smelled of expensive cologne and cold ambition. "You left the life, but the life didn't leave you. Jace is dead. That makes Brooks the most valuable thing in this family, and I’m not letting him—or his mother—out of my sight." "He’s my son, not a Rossi asset!" I snapped, retreating a step. Jude’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Unpack their belongings into the guest room," he barked at the remaining guards. He turned back to me, leaning in close. "I’m not asking, sweetheart. You and the boy are staying here. I won't allow you to leave." I felt a surge of pure, cold fury. If Jace were here, he would have burned this house down before letting Jude speak to me this way. But Jace was gone—taken in an explosion that had left nothing but a hollow ache in my chest and a legacy of blood for our five-month-old son. I looked up at the ornate crown molding of the ceiling, trying to blink back tears of frustration, unaware that I was looking directly into the lens of a micro-camera hidden in the gold leaf. Miles away, in a secure, nondescript bunker, Jace Rossi sat in the dark. The blue light of a dozen monitors illuminated the sharp lines of his face—the face the world thought was ash. His fingers were laced together, his knuckles white as he watched Jude tower over me. His heart hammered against his ribs seeing Brooks' tiny hand clutching my shirt, but he didn't move. He had to know. He had to see if Jude would protect his family or imprison them. He had to see if his "family" was worth returning to, or if he needed to eliminate every single one of them to keep us safe. “Fine," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and calculated rage as I stared Jude down. "But if a single hair on Brooks' head is touched, I don't care about the 'family'—I will end you myself." Jude gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "That’s the Rossi spirit I remember. Get upstairs." As I turned to follow the guards, I felt a strange prickle on the back of my neck—the sensation of being watched. I looked around the empty hallway, seeing nothing but shadows and cold stone. I had no idea that Jace was leaning toward his screen, whispering my name into the silence of his hiding place, watching his brother sign his own death warrant with every word he spoke to me. All of the men who worked for my husband and staff, including his right hand man/his best friend since they were kids all starting living with Jude because everyone who was living in our house which everyone including his best friend was living with us before he passed we all live together