The eighteenth nanny fled the mansion with blood running down her forehead, screaming that four-year-old Noah Vale was “not right”—and by that afternoon, I was kneeling in front of the same little boy while one of Chicago’s most feared mafia bosses watched from the staircase.

One month later.

The autumn leaves had fallen, giving way to a bright, clear winter morning in Chicago.

In the working-class neighborhood of Pilsen, a black luxury SUV parked quietly outside a modest three-story brick building.

The front door of the apartment building opened, and ten-year-old Tyler Reed ran down the concrete steps, wearing a bright blue winter jacket, holding a brand-new soccer ball under his arm. He looked healthy, full of energy, his face glowing with life.

"Clara! Look! Mr. Vale bought me the official World Cup ball!" Tyler shouted happily, running over to show his sister.

Clara stepped out onto the porch, wearing a warm cream-colored coat, a bright smile on her face. "That's wonderful, Ty! Just don't kick it into Mrs. Higgins's windows!"

From the driver's side of the SUV, Dominic stepped out into the cold morning air. He wore an elegant black overcoat, looking every bit the powerful titan, but his face carried a soft, relaxed warmth that the people of Cicero would never have recognized.

He walked up the concrete steps, reaching out to gently ruffle Tyler's dark hair before stopping beside Clara on the porch.

Noah scrambled out of the backseat of the SUV, holding his drawing pad, running up the steps to grab Clara's hand.

"Clara! Look! I drew the bridge!" Noah beamed, holding up a drawing of a bright green bridge spanning across a dark blue river.

Clara bent down, kissing Noah's pale cheek gently. "It's the best bridge I've ever seen, Noah."

Dominic stepped up beside her, wrapping his arm around Clara's waist, pulling her close against his side as the cold winter wind blew through the street.

"Your mother said the bakery downstairs is baking fresh rye bread," Dominic whispered near her ear, his breath warm against her neck. "I bought the building this morning."

Clara turned her head, looking up at him in shock. "You bought my mother's apartment building?"

"I bought the entire block," Dominic corrected smoothly, a small, arrogant twitch of a smile touching his lips. "Your mother will never pay rent again. And the bakery downstairs has a lifetime contract to supply the Lake Forest estate with fresh bread every Tuesday."

Clara laughed—a bright, musical sound that filled the cold morning air. She reached up, cupping his strong jaw with her hand, kissing him deeply on the lips right there on the front porch of her childhood home.

"You are completely ridiculous, Dominic Vale," Clara whispered against his mouth.