I ran from Chicago the night I found my husband with my own sister,

"Mama?"

The sleepy voice came from the top of the bakery stairs.

Marco and I both froze. I looked up to see Mila standing at the landing, rubbing her eyes in her pink pajama set, clutching her stuffed rabbit. A second later, Leo appeared beside her, sleepily rubbing his amber eyes.

Marco’s gaze snapped toward the staircase. His breath hitched, and a tremor ran through his massive shoulders. He slowly rose to his feet, turning to face our children as if he were approaching a holy shrine.

"Mila... Leo," Marco whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

Mila blinked, fully waking up. She looked down at the tall, dark-haired man standing in our kitchen—the same man she had seen from the balcony yesterday.

"Are you the thundercloud man?" Mila asked innocently, walking halfway down the stairs, tilting her head.

A choked laugh escaped Marco’s throat, tears finally spilling over his dark lashes. "Yes, sweet girl. I guess I am."

Leo stood protectively in front of his sister, his small jaw set in a stubborn line that was a carbon copy of Marco’s signature expression. "You made Mama cry. Go away."

Marco looked at Leo, and a profound wave of pride and agony washed over his features. He knelt down slowly, keeping his hands open and visible. "I'm sorry, son. I made your mama cry a long time ago, and I've regretted it every single day since. I'm here to fix it."

"You can't fix things with magic words," Leo said, sounding far too wise for a five-year-old.

"He's right," I said, standing up, brushing the flour from my skirt. I looked at Marco, the initial shock of his revelation giving way to a cold, strategic clarity. If what he said was true—if Clara and the Moretti syndicate had engineered our destruction—then my quiet, invisible life in West Virginia was officially over.

Because men like Marco Bellini and enemies like the Moretti syndicate don't just disappear.

"What happens now, Marco?" I asked quietly. "You found us. The Morettis will find out soon enough. West Virginia won't be safe for long."

Marco stood up, the softness in his eyes vanishing, replaced instantly by the ruthless, calculating mafia boss who ruled the underworld. He stepped closer to me, his hand brushing my cheek with infinite tenderness before dropping to his side.

"They won't find us here," Marco said, his voice hard as iron. "Because we aren't staying here."

"What?" I stepped back. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the ghost story of Elena Wells ends today," Marco said, pulling a secure satellite phone from his pocket. "It's time for Elena Bellini to come home. And it's time to teach your sister and the Moretti syndicate what happens when you touch my family."

Before I could answer, a loud, sharp explosion echoed from the end of the quiet West Virginia street.

Boom.