A bleeding stranger held a gun beneath my chin and ordered me to let him and his infant twins die in a Boston alley. He claimed the police had shot him—but by sunrise, I would discover that Daniel wasn’t running from the city’s most powerful men. He was one of them.

Daniel drove like a man chasing death.

Mara called the cabin security team again and again, but no one answered.

I sat beside Daniel, my hands clenched so tightly my nails cut into my palms.

“They’re babies,” I whispered. “They’re just babies.”

“I know.”

His voice broke.

That terrified me.

Daniel Hawthorne had survived gunshots, ambushes, betrayal, and armed men in the dark.

But the thought of losing his sons was destroying him.

We reached the cabin.

The front door was open.

Inside, furniture was overturned. The crib was empty.

Daniel stopped breathing.

Then a phone rang on the kitchen table.

He answered.

A woman’s voice came through.

“Daniel.”

His face became stone.

“Father.”

Edward Hawthorne.

The voice on the phone was smooth, polished, unmistakably powerful.

“You have caused an extraordinary amount of damage,” Edward said.

“You took my sons.”

“I am protecting the family.”

“From what?”

“From you.”

Daniel’s hand tightened around the phone.

“You murdered Anna’s mother.”

A pause.

Then Edward said, “Your mother was emotional. She made choices.”

My stomach turned.

“You had her killed,” Daniel said.

“I had a problem contained.”

The words filled the cabin.

Cold.

Casual.

Monstrous.

Daniel closed his eyes.

“Where are my children?”

“At Hawthorne House. Come alone. Bring the files.”

The call ended.

Daniel stood motionless.

Then he looked at me.

“I’m going.”

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“Daniel—”

“They will kill you.”

“They will kill the twins if you go alone.”

He looked at me, rage and fear fighting behind his eyes.

“You don’t understand who my father is.”

“No,” I said. “But I understand who you are.”

He shook his head.

“I’m his son.”

“You are not him.”

That stopped him.

I stepped closer.

“You brought those babies into a diner kitchen because you were trying to protect them. You trusted a stranger because you had no other choice. You came back for me every time you could have run.”

His eyes filled with something he tried to hide.

“You are not him,” I repeated.

Mara entered through the back door with Detective Ruiz and two federal agents behind her.

“We traced the call,” Ruiz said. “Hawthorne House.”

Daniel looked at the agents.

“You knew?”

“We’ve been building a case against Edward Hawthorne for eighteen months,” one agent said. “Your files are enough to bring him down. But we need him to confirm the kidnapping and the conspiracy.”

Daniel looked toward the dark road beyond the cabin.

Then he nodded.