For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The greenhouse seemed unnaturally quiet.
I could hear the rain tapping against the glass roof.
Then I looked at Dylan.
"What do you mean my father is missing?"
He slipped his phone into his pocket.
"Renzo says your father disappeared from his house this evening."
I stared at him.
"And you believe Renzo?"
Dylan's expression hardened.
"No."
Vincent stepped forward.
"Then why are you here?"
Dylan looked at the case in my hand.
"Because I finally found out what my uncle has been doing."
I folded my arms over my stomach.
"Then tell us."
Dylan hesitated.
I watched him struggle with the instinct to keep control.
For six months, he had hidden behind silence.
Now that silence was destroying everything he claimed to protect.
"Renzo has been moving money through the family companies," he said.
Vincent's expression remained unreadable.
"That's not news."
"He used those accounts to pay men inside my security operation."
I felt cold.
"The tracker in my handbag?"
Dylan looked at me.
"What tracker?"
Vincent removed the small device from his pocket.
Dylan stared at it.
Then he closed his eyes.
"That was supposed to be a location tag for emergencies."
I felt my stomach twist.
"You put a tracker in my handbag?"
"After someone tried to follow you outside the penthouse."
I stared at him.
"You never told me."
"I didn't want to frighten you."
I laughed softly.
"You didn't want to give me a choice."
Dylan looked as if I had struck him.
He didn't deny it.
Vincent turned toward him.
"Renzo accessed the tracker through your security system."
Dylan's jaw tightened.
"I know that now."
I looked between them.
"Then why did your uncle want me married to you?"
Dylan exhaled.
"Because he believed your mother left evidence with you."
I felt tears gathering.
"You knew that before our wedding."
"Yes."
"Did my father know?"
Dylan looked away.
"Yes."
The greenhouse seemed to spin.
My father had handed me over to a man who knew I was being used.
And Dylan had accepted me.
I pressed my hand against my stomach.
"Was any part of our marriage real?"
Dylan looked at me.
"Leslie—"
"Answer me."
His voice broke.
"Yes."
I shook my head.
"Then why did you make me feel like I was nothing?"
He stared at me.
For the first time, Dylan Marchetti had no answer.
Vincent's phone rang.
He stepped aside to answer.
When he returned, his expression was grim.
"We found your father."
I turned toward him.
"Where?"
"At a private medical facility outside the city."
My stomach tightened.
"Is he hurt?"
"He's alive."
"Then why is he there?"
Vincent looked at Dylan.
"Renzo had him admitted under a false name."
Dylan swore under his breath.
I looked between them.
"What does Renzo want?"
Vincent's gaze moved toward the case in my hand.
"The evidence."
I clutched it tighter.
"And my baby?"
Neither man answered.
My fear turned into anger.
"Stop protecting me with silence!"
Dylan flinched.
Vincent spoke first.
"Renzo believes your child could inherit controlling interests in both family businesses."
I stared at him.
"What?"
Dylan looked at the ground.
"Our marriage agreement included provisions for any children we had."
I felt sick.
"Nobody told me."
Vincent continued.
"If Dylan dies, certain family assets pass into a trust for your child. Renzo would lose the control he's spent years building."
I looked at Dylan.
"Is that true?"
He nodded.
I took a step backward.
"So our baby isn't a complication."
Dylan's face tightened.
"Our baby is the reason Renzo is afraid."
He looked at me.
"Yes."
I laughed once.
It was a terrible sound.
"You knew our child could be in danger, and you still told me nothing."
"I didn't know Renzo had gone this far."
"But you knew enough to be afraid."
He didn't answer.
I looked down at my stomach.
Then I turned toward Vincent.
"What do we do?"
Dylan stepped forward.
"Leslie, please."
I looked at him.
"You don't get to decide for me anymore."
We took the evidence to a federal attorney Vincent had been working with quietly for months.
Her name was Rebecca Shaw.
She was direct, composed, and unimpressed by the reputation of either man standing beside me.
She examined the documents, reviewed the storage device, and asked questions that made even Dylan uncomfortable.
"Mrs. Marchetti," she said, "your mother's records may help establish a pattern of financial crimes, bribery, and conspiracy."
I looked at her.
"Can they stop Renzo?"
"They can support an investigation. But we need corroboration."
Vincent leaned forward.
"What kind?"
"Bank records, witness testimony, and evidence connecting Renzo directly to the orders."
I looked at Dylan.
He understood immediately.
His uncle had controlled the family's finances for years.
If anyone could access the records, it was him.
Dylan sat back.
"I can get them."
Rebecca studied him.
"Legally."
He gave a humorless smile.
"Understood."
She turned toward me.
"And you need to remain somewhere secure."
I looked at Vincent.
He nodded.
But Dylan stood.
"She should come with me."
"No," I said.
He turned.
"Leslie—"
"I'll stay where I feel safe."
The room fell silent.
Dylan looked at Vincent.
Then back at me.
Something in his expression changed.
He finally understood that this wasn't a negotiation he could win.
"All right," he said quietly.
It was the first time he had accepted my decision without trying to change it.
Two days later, my father called.
I was sitting in Vincent's kitchen when the phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
"Leslie."
I froze.
"Dad?"
His voice sounded weak.
"Are you safe?"
Tears filled my eyes.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere Renzo can't reach me."
I looked toward Vincent.
He immediately moved closer.
"Dad, what happened?"
My father coughed.
"I made a terrible mistake."
I closed my eyes.
"You married me to Dylan."
"Yes."
"You knew Renzo wanted something from me."
A long silence followed.
Then my father whispered, "I thought I could control him."
I felt anger rise through the fear.
"You thought you could control everyone."
"Leslie—"
"You gave me away like I was a debt you could settle."
His breathing trembled.
"I know."
I had spent years waiting for my father to acknowledge what he had done.
Now that he finally had, I didn't know what to feel.
"Your mother tried to warn me," he said.
I sat down.
"About Renzo?"
"About all of it."
He paused.
"She found proof that he arranged Antonio Marchetti's death. She wanted to take it to the authorities."
"Why didn't she?"
"Because Renzo threatened you."
My hand moved to my stomach.
I felt suddenly cold.
"What happened to Mom?"
My father began to cry.
It was the first time I had ever heard him do that.
"She was supposed to meet a federal investigator the week she died."
I stopped breathing.
"Her car accident?"
"I don't know, Leslie."
His voice broke.
"I've spent nine years trying to find out."
I closed my eyes.
For nine years, I had believed my mother died because another driver lost control on a wet road.
Now I wondered whether her death had been something far more terrible.
My father continued.
"There's something else you need to know."
I opened my eyes.
"What?"
"Renzo has been telling Dylan that Vincent Romano killed his father."
"I know."
"No, sweetheart."
My father took a shaky breath.
"Renzo didn't just arrange Antonio's death."
I gripped the phone.
"He arranged your mother's accident, too."
I don't remember ending the call.
I remember Vincent taking the phone from my hand.
I remember Elena kneeling beside me.
And I remember the terrible sound that escaped my throat when I finally understood what my father had said.
My mother.
My beautiful, gentle mother.
The woman who had spent her life trying to end the hatred between our families.
She hadn't simply died.
Someone had wanted her silenced.
And that someone had been sitting across from me at family dinners, kissing my hand and calling me darling.
I felt sick.
Vincent crouched in front of me.
"Leslie."
I looked at him.
"Did you know?"
He shook his head.
"I suspected Renzo was involved, but I didn't have proof."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because suspicion isn't the same as evidence."
I covered my face.
Vincent remained beside me.
He didn't tell me to stop crying.
He didn't promise everything would be fine.
He simply stayed.
After a while, I lowered my hands.
"I want him arrested."
Vincent nodded.
"So do I."
I looked at him.
"And I want the truth about my mother."
"We'll find it."
I studied his face.
"Promise?"
He took a slow breath.
"I promise I'll do everything I can."
It was the first promise a powerful man had made to me that didn't sound like a threat disguised as protection.
That evening, Dylan arrived at the townhouse.
Vincent met him at the door.
I watched from the sitting room.
For a moment, the two men simply stared at one another.
Then Dylan said, "I have the records."
Vincent stepped aside.
Dylan entered carrying a black briefcase.
His eyes found mine immediately.
"Leslie."
I stood.
He looked exhausted.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his usually immaculate hair was disheveled.
"I heard about your mother," he said.
I nodded.
"I'm sorry."
I looked at him.
"Did you know?"
"No."
I believed him.
But believing him didn't erase everything else.
He opened the briefcase and placed several folders on the table.
"These are the original accounts Renzo used to move money through our companies."
Vincent examined them.
Dylan continued.
"I also found something else."
He removed a small recording device.
My stomach tightened.
"What is it?"
Dylan looked at me.
"A conversation between Renzo and one of his men."
He pressed play.
Renzo's voice filled the room.
"The Hartwell girl is pregnant. We can't allow that child to inherit what belongs to us."
A second man spoke.
"What about Dylan?"
Renzo laughed.
"Dylan will do whatever I tell him once the girl is gone."
The recording ended.
I stood frozen.
Dylan looked at me.
His face was pale.
"I didn't know," he whispered.
I looked at the man I had once loved more than anything.
Then I said the words he had never expected to hear.
"I believe you."
Hope flickered in his eyes.
But I continued.
"And I'm still not coming home."