"“I'm Too Old for Love,” the Mafia Boss Said at 59—But His Curvy Best Friend Had Other Plans!

Vincent forbade Cara from going to the address alone. Cara reminded him that she had not asked his permission to receive the message. Their argument ended when the photograph arrived again, this time with a live location pin and a countdown: thirty minutes.

They went together, with Marco and two trusted guards following at a distance. The address led to an abandoned community center on the edge of the city, a place Vincent had once funded through a charitable foundation. The front doors hung open. Inside, the air smelled of dust and rain.

A girl stood on the stage beneath a broken spotlight. She looked about fifteen, with dark hair and Elena’s eyes. She wore a navy coat too thin for the cold and held a small backpack against her chest.

Vincent stopped walking.

The girl studied him without warmth. “You’re Vincent Morelli.”

“Yes.”

“My mother said you’d look older than the pictures.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sophie.” Her eyes shifted to Cara. “She said you were the one who kept her secret.”

Cara took one careful step forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where you were.”

“You knew she was scared.” Sophie’s voice cracked. “You knew she was in danger, and you did nothing.”

Cara accepted the accusation without defending herself. “You’re right that I was scared. I was wrong to think silence was the same as keeping someone safe. I’m sorry.”

Sophie’s expression flickered, as if she had prepared for excuses and didn’t know what to do with an apology.

Vincent could barely speak. “Is Elena alive?”

Sophie looked down. “She was alive after the crash. Someone took her away before the ambulance came. I was little, but I remember the man who came to our house. He told me my mother had died. Then he told me you didn’t want me.”

Vincent’s face went ashen. “I never knew you existed.”

“That’s what he said you’d claim.”

“I won’t ask you to believe me because I say it. I’ll prove it.”

For the first time, Sophie looked uncertain. She reached into her backpack and took out a folded sheet of paper. It was a school registration form, signed by a guardian named Adrian Vale. The address was a house outside the city. On the back, in Elena’s handwriting, were the words: If Sophie finds Vincent, tell him to look beneath the chapel floor.

Before Vincent could ask another question, a sharp crack split the air. A window burst behind the stage. Marco shouted for everyone to get down. The guards returned fire toward the parking lot, where two men were moving between cars.

Vincent threw himself in front of Sophie. Cara pulled the girl behind the stage. A second shot hit the wooden railing above them, showering splinters across Vincent’s shoulder.

“Move!” Marco yelled.

They escaped through a rear exit into an alley, where a car waited with its engine running. Vincent got Sophie inside first, then Cara. As the driver accelerated, Sophie grabbed Vincent’s sleeve.

“Don’t take me to your house,” she said. “That’s where he’ll look first.”

“Who?”

“Uncle Adrian.” She stared at him. “He said he was protecting me. But last night I heard him talking to someone on the phone. He said the next move was to make sure you and Cara never got the chance to trust each other.”

Vincent looked at Cara. The danger was no longer an old ghost reaching from the past. Someone knew about their feelings and was using them as a weapon.

Sophie opened her backpack again and pulled out a small envelope sealed with red wax.

“He told me to burn this if I ever found you,” she said. “But I think it’s the reason he wants me dead.”

Inside was a photograph of Vincent shaking hands with the man who had ordered Elena’s car off the road.