Rhiannon stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still gripping the frame, staring at the woman who had lived in her nightmares for years. Monalisa. Her sister. The one person she had spent her entire adult life running from, trying to erase, trying to convince herself no longer existed in any version of her world. Why was she here? The question burned through her mind. How did she even know this address? Rhiannon had been deliberate about keeping her location private. Which meant someone had passed it along. Harry. The thought hit her cold and fast. If Monalisa knew where she lived, Harry was the most obvious explanation. But the more she turned it over, the more that didn't sit right. She pushed it aside. It was more likely Monalisa had found out when she'd gone to the estate to confirm her place in the will. That made more sense. Rhiannon made a decision. She wasn't doing this. She would brush past her, get to rehearsal, and deal with whatever this was when she had more time and

"Your Lily is alive," Harry said out loud this time, his voice steady and clear. "Not the woman you have playing the role inside this mansion. Your actual daughter. The real Lily." The words sat between them in the quiet room like something charged. Ricardo stared at him, his expression locked in place for a moment before something underneath it began to move. His eyebrow lifted, skepticism pulling at his features. Then he let out a low laugh, a disbelieving sound that started somewhere in his chest and rolled out slowly into the silence. "My daughter," Ricardo repeated, shaking his head. For just a second, barely long enough to catch, Harry had seen something real break through. Hope, raw and unguarded, had pushed up through the armor the Don wore like a second skin. Then reality came back down, and Ricardo's face closed off again. "No. That isn't possible. If Lily were alive, I would have known. I would have felt it. I would have found her by now." He placed the golden gun down

Ricardo guided Harry along the expansive corridors of the mansion. They passed valuable paintings that exceeded the worth of many people's entire existences and marble pillars supporting the influence of longstanding wealth together with hidden mysteries from the past. The remaining leaders of the families maintained a cautious gap behind them. Their expressions appeared strained due to the fury they struggled to conceal. "I need you to grasp one important point," Harry stated in a quiet tone meant only for Ricardo to hear. "No matter what schemes you have in mind or what actions you are taking, you must halt them." Ricardo looked over at him with a sideways glance. His eyes proved difficult to interpret. "You lack awareness of what you are requesting." "Perhaps that is true. Yet I recognize what I observe." Harry halted his movement and turned directly to confront him. "You are not an evil person, Ricardo. I can sense that. You show kindness. You pay attention. You simply remain t

His hand gripped her breast firmly with unrelenting strength. His fingers pressed deeply into the yielding softness as he manipulated it with coarse movements. His thumb moved repeatedly across her nipple, causing it to harden into a firm and sensitive peak that pushed against the delicate lace material of her blouse. Margot inhaled in quick and uneven patterns. Her chest moved up and down rapidly beneath the pressure of his palm. A wave of panic overwhelmed her thoughts as ideas of screaming for help, pushing him forcefully, or struggling with full intensity crossed her mind. Yet Harry's powerful and focused gaze held her firmly in place against the door. This made her arms and legs feel weighted down and ineffective. The spacious room held only the two of them, yet it appeared to shrink around them. The atmosphere grew dense with strain while faint sounds of conversation and amusement filtered in from the corridor beyond the entrance. These noises served as an ongoing signal of the

Harry heard another knock about fifteen minutes after Margot left. When he answered, a woman in her early thirties came through the door carrying a medical bag. She was dressed neatly in slacks and a pressed white blouse under a light cardigan, her dark hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail. "Mr. Farrow? I'm Dr. Singh. Mr. Cavalli asked me to look at your shoulder wound." Harry wasn't surprised a doctor had been sent. In Ricardo's world, he suspected she probably served more than one purpose, though medical expertise was clearly the primary one. Either way, he had already gotten what he needed from Margot earlier, her mouth working him over until he finished. He had no interest in Dr. Singh beyond what she could actually do for his arm. "Yeah, come in," he said, pushing himself upright on the bed. Dr. Singh moved with efficient calm, setting her bag on the nightstand and pulling on latex gloves. "I need to look at the wound. Would you like to remove the bandage yourself, or shall