The maid’s toddler said a man with your face followed me, and the mafia boss realized his family had buried a living brother

At 5:30 a.m., the Black Falcon pulled into the private slip at the Marlowe estate.

The rain had finally stopped, replaced by the pale blue light of a cold October dawn.

Savannah stood on the stone terrace overlooking the bay, holding a thick wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Beside her, Lucy sat on a wicker bench, holding her stuffed rabbit Scout, watching the dark water.

When the sleek boat emerged from the morning mist and docked at the pier, Savannah's heart did a sudden, violent flip in her chest.

Two tall figures stepped off the deck and walked up the stone steps toward the terrace.

Vincent and Evan.

Both men were covered in mud, soot, and sea spray, their clothes torn, but both were walking under their own power.

Lucy jumped down from the bench, running across the stone terrace with her tiny arms open. "Mommy! They're back!"

Vincent reached the top of the steps first. He dropped to one knee, catching Lucy in his arms, lifting her off her feet with a warm, gentle hug that surprised even Savannah.

"Hey, little one," Vincent whispered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "We made it."

Lucy wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his rough jaw. "Did you fix the man with your face?"

Vincent looked up at his brother, who was walking up the steps behind him, a look of profound relief on his face.

"Yeah, Lucy," Vincent said softly, meeting Savannah's tear-filled eyes. "We fixed him."

Savannah walked forward, stopping right in front of Vincent. She didn't say anything. She simply reached out, her hand resting against his broad chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath his shirt.

Vincent stood up, keeping one arm around Lucy, and used his free hand to cup Savannah's cheek. His thumb gently wiped away a stray tear from her eye.

"Vance is dead," Vincent told her quietly. "The ledger is safe. The federal marshals are raiding the Syndicate's headquarters in Boston right now."

Savannah closed her eyes, letting out a long, trembling breath that released seven weeks of terror, poverty, and uncertainty.