The morning sun filtered through the windows of Morning Sunshine restaurant, casting golden streaks across Dante Moretti's table. He sat alone, nursing a cup of black coffee he couldn't afford to pair with breakfast. His stomach growled in protest, but Giulia had rushed him out of their apartment at dawn, insisting he skip his meal. Something about needing the kitchen for party preparations—her birthday was today, after all.His phone buzzed against the laminated table. An email notification. Dante's heart sank as he read the subject line: "Contract Termination Notice - Golden Fingers Inc.""Effective immediately..." The words blurred together as his hands trembled. Two years of dedication, late nights, and swallowed pride—gone in a clinical, two-paragraph email.Dante absently touched the Rolex on his wrist, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier. It was the only thing of real value he owned, a gift from Giulia during better times. Or what he'd thought were better times.He needed

Dante pushed the tablet away, his head spinning. "This is insane. You've got the wrong person. My mother—she raised me. I have baby pictures, birth certificates—""DNA doesn't lie, Dante." Selena's voice remained infuriatingly calm as she set the tablet on the pristine white side table. "Or should I say, Ryan? Ryan Ricci.""My name is Dante Moretti," he insisted, his voice rising. "I don't know what kind of scam you're running, but—""We lost you at an amusement park." Selena cut him off, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. "Ocean World. Twenty-five years ago. You were three years old. My father had you on the carousel, turned away for thirty seconds to buy cotton candy, and when he looked back, you were gone. We searched for months. Years. Hired every private investigator on the East Coast."Dante's throat tightened. He had vague memories of a carousel, of bright lights and music, but they were fragments—the kind of early childhood memories that could belong to anyone."That doesn't pr

The private medical suite occupied the entire third floor of the Ricci mansion, outfitted with equipment that belonged in a state-of-the-art hospital rather than a residence. Monitors beeped softly, tracking vital signs with clinical precision. Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting gentle shadows across the figure in the hospital bed.Pietro Ricci lay motionless except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. At seventy-three, he was a shadow of the man in the portrait downstairs—his once-powerful frame diminished by illness, his face gaunt and pale against white pillows. But his eyes, those sharp gray eyes that Dante had seen in his own reflection that morning, were fully alert.Selena stood beside Dante at the doorway, her expression unreadable. "He's been waiting since dawn," she said quietly. "I told him you'd come."Dante's throat felt tight. This stranger was supposedly his father. The man who'd lost him at a carousel twenty-five years ago, who'd searched for him a

The office of Stone Contracting Services occupied a cramped corner on the third floor of a run-down building that smelled of stale coffee and broken dreams. Tazio Stone sat behind a cluttered desk, his fingers working through his straggly beard like he was searching for loose change. His eyes, small and calculating, assessed Dante with the predatory interest of someone who made money off other people's labor."Dante Wellington," Tazio read from the resume in front of him, his half-broken teeth showing through a wide smile. "Good credentials. Decent grades. And look at you—handsome too. The ladies are going to love you."Dante forced a polite smile, suppressing the urge to grimace at the man's appearance. Tazio's bald head reflected the fluorescent lights, and his suit—though expensive—hung awkwardly on his thin frame, like he'd bought it two sizes too large to appear more important than he was."Thank you, sir," Dante said evenly."We're a part-time contracting company," Tazio explain