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I saw the way he looked at her. The way he watched her when they were in the same room. He would have made a good father. A good grandfather for Henry. Someone I wouldn’t have feared.Someone who would have loved me. Loved my mother. Been faithful to her.

Maybe there was still a chance for them. It was unlikely I would ever see my father again. Once my Uncle Sal found out about Henry, he wanted to demand him back. Wanted him raised Irish. Not Italian and certainly not Russian.

But I stood firm. Henry had already lost his father. I wouldn’t pull him from his family. I wasn’t selfish like my father.

My heart broke every time I saw him in the park. But every time I saw the way his aunt and uncle doted on him, treating him like their own son, it healed a small crack from when it shattered after I walked away.

They were coming down the path. I tried to keep my emotions closed off. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Didn’t want them to know who I was.

Why I was here.

Henry was seven years old now. I had missed so many firsts. Sal sent me pictures and videos. I should have stopped him, because that was how my father had learned about him.

My secret had gotten out and there was nothing I could do. I tried to warn Sal. He assured me his family was more powerful than mine. He wasn’t entirely wrong. People might fear my uncle Sal as the American boss. But my father was not my uncle.

His men didn’t respect him. And without respect, there was no fear. Without fear, there was no loyalty. Sal’s family might have been powerful. But they were no match for the Russians. And when the two combined through the marriage of Sal’s sister and the Bloodletter, well, there was nowhere safer for my son.

Henry and Max ran to the playground. Their nanny following closely behind them, giving no thought to the danger that might be waiting for them.

She didn’t have to.

There was an entourage of Russian men watching over my son. Along with his aunt and uncle.

I avoided looking their way. My head turned, hiding the fact that I was watching the two boys out of the corner of my eye. Sitting on the bench, my eyes watered as I thought about everything I would miss.

His first missing tooth. Graduation from both high school and college. His first love. His wedding day. Children I would never see. My grandchildren that I would never know.

As I wiped away a tear that refused to stay put, a large man sat on the bench beside me.

“Good morning, Miss Kelley.”

My breath hitched at the use of my name. My body stiffened in fear. How did he know who I was? Did he know why I was here?

“Good morning,” I returned, praying it was a simple greeting. Though clearly I wasn’t a stranger if he knew my name.

“You are here every week when my wife and I bring our sons to the park. Did you think I wouldn’t look into you?”

“I had hoped,” I confessed quietly.

“That was a foolish thought.”

“I just wanted to see him. See how happy he is.”

Maxim Fedorov, thePakhanof the Russian Bratva, sighed beside me. I didn’t know how to interpret that response. I sat frozen in my seat, not from the cold but the complete terror that overtook me.

Illyria Valentinetti looked in our direction. Her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at us.

“Does she know who I am?”

“She does.”

“Mr. Fedorov, this is the last time. I am moving to Boston. I just needed to see him one last time.” I didn’t look at him as Ispoke. I couldn’t take my eyes off my son as he ran and laughed. Seeing him so carefree filled my heart with both joy and grief.

“Would you like to meet him?”

My head swung around so fast to look at the intimidating man, I thought I might get whiplash.

“No,” I whispered.