1 “Touch Her Again,” the Mafia Boss Warned His Fiancée—Then His Next Move Left the Restaurant Frozen

The next few seconds were noise and motion.

Matteo returned fire from behind the front steps. One of Dominic's men pulled Khloe into the hallway while another secured the rear exit.

Dominic remained beside her.

“Can you run?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don't stop until Matteo reaches you.”

“What about you?”

“I'll be behind you.”

She heard the lie in his voice.

He wasn't planning to retreat until everyone else was safe.

Khloe had no time to argue. She ran through the back door and crossed the narrow yard, stumbling over a broken fence before Matteo caught her arm and guided her into the SUV.

Dominic arrived less than a minute later, blood darkening the sleeve of his jacket.

“Are you hit?” Khloe asked.

“It's a graze.”

“You're bleeding.”

“I've noticed.”

“That's your medical opinion?”

“It's the one I'm working with.”

Despite everything, she almost laughed.

Then she saw the envelope in his hand.

“You took it.”

“I secured it.”

“You mean you took it.”

He met her eyes.

“Yes.”

She turned toward the window and refused to speak for the rest of the drive.

Dominic brought her to a private residence overlooking Boston Harbor, not the grand mansion she'd expected but a smaller property protected by cameras and discreet security. He offered her a guest room, a phone, and the number of a physician.

She accepted the phone.

She refused the room.

“I'll sleep on the couch.”

“You'll sleep in the bedroom.”

“Are you always this controlling?”

“When people are shooting at you, yes.”

“Then learn to ask instead of ordering.”

Something changed in his expression.

“All right,” he said. “Would you prefer the bedroom or the couch?”

Khloe blinked.

“The bedroom.”

“Good.”

He left her alone.

For the first time in years, Khloe slept without listening for footsteps outside her apartment door.

She woke late the next morning to find coffee, eggs, and toast on a tray. A note beside the plate read: No meetings until you've eaten.

She carried the tray downstairs.

Dominic stood in a study with his uncle's photograph on the desk. His injured arm was bandaged. He looked as though he hadn't slept.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

He handed her the photograph recovered from the brick cavity.

It showed her father beside three people: Dominic's uncle, Senator Kensington, and a dark-haired woman holding a newborn.

Khloe recognized the woman.

Her mother.

But the baby wasn't her.

The photograph had been taken two years before Khloe was born.

“Who is that child?” she whispered.

“We don't know.”

“Why was my mother holding someone else's baby?”

Dominic turned the photograph over.

There were four words in her father's handwriting.

The child survived the fire.

Khloe felt the room tilt.

“What fire?”

“That's what we're trying to establish.”

Dominic opened a folder containing newspaper clippings from fifteen years earlier. One reported a fire at a private waterfront property owned by the Costello family. The official account described it as an electrical accident. Two employees had died. The family's records showed no other casualties.

But a second article, published three days later, had been quietly retracted.

It reported that a newborn girl had been missing.

Khloe sat down.

“My mother worked as a nurse.”

“Your father worked in accounting for my uncle. He had access to the family's private records. According to the little I know, he discovered that the fire wasn't an accident.”

“And the baby?”

“Possibly connected to the woman in this photograph.”

Khloe studied the child's tiny face.

There was a small crescent-shaped mark just below the left ear.

She knew that mark.

Her mother had kept an old silver locket in a locked jewelry box. Inside was a faded photograph of a baby with the same crescent mark. Khloe had assumed it was a relative she'd never met.

She rushed upstairs, retrieved her handbag, and opened the small pocket where she kept the locket.

When she returned, Dominic was speaking on the phone.

“Cancel the meeting,” he said. “I don't care what the senator threatens.”

He ended the call when he saw the locket in her hand.

Khloe opened it.

The baby's face was unmistakable.

Dominic compared the photographs.

“Your mother knew that child.”

“She kept this for years.”

“Then we have a connection.”

“No,” Khloe said, staring at the mark. “We have a lie.”

She remembered her mother's final weeks, the way she had begged Khloe to promise that she'd never let strangers take the locket.

At the time, Khloe had thought her mother was afraid of losing another family heirloom.

Now she wondered whether the locket was the only proof that a child had ever existed.

Dominic called Matteo into the study.

“Find the surviving employees from that property. Every nurse, driver, housekeeper, and security guard.”

Matteo nodded.

“And get me the original fire report.”

“Already requested.”

“Not the official copy. The original.”

Matteo hesitated.

“Boss, there's something else. Senator Kensington has called an emergency press conference for noon.”

Dominic's face hardened.

“What is he announcing?”

Matteo glanced at Khloe.

“He says a violent restaurant employee assaulted his daughter, then fled with confidential Costello family property.”

Khloe stared at him.

“They're making me the criminal.”

Dominic's voice turned cold.

“Then we'll show them who the real criminals are.”

A television switched on in the adjoining room.

Vivien appeared beside her father, wearing a pale blue dress and a bandage around one wrist. She looked fragile, frightened, and perfectly composed.

“My fiancé and I have been dealing with a difficult situation,” she told the cameras. “I fear Dominic Costello has become involved with dangerous people who are manipulating him.”

She paused.

Then she held up a photograph.

It was a picture of Khloe entering the Costello residence the night before.

“I'm afraid this woman has targeted him.”

Khloe felt sick.

Vivien looked directly into the camera.

“If anyone knows where Khloe Bennett is, please contact the authorities.”

Her expression softened.

“She's not well. And she may be dangerous.”

The broadcast ended.

Dominic picked up his phone.

“Get every member of my legal team on a call.”

Khloe stood.

“No.”

He looked at her.

“I'm not hiding while she destroys my life.”

“Khloe—”

“You said you wanted to know what happened to my father. Fine. But I'm not going to spend the rest of my life being rescued by men who decide what I can handle.”

She held up the locket.

“Find the child. Find the truth. And let me stand beside you when we expose it.”

Dominic studied her.

Then he nodded.

“Tomorrow night, the Kensington Foundation is holding its annual charity gala.”

Khloe understood immediately.

“You want me to go.”

“I want the people who buried this secret to see the person they thought they could erase.”

She looked at the photograph of her mother.

“Then I'll go.”

Dominic's eyes met hers.

“But there is one thing you need to understand,” he said. “The woman in that photograph may be connected to your family.”