"Don't run." His voice was softer but no less threatening, a velvet glove over an iron fist. "It won't end well for either of us."
I left without responding, walking calmly past his assistant, past the curious eyes in the bullpen, all the way back to my office, where I finally allowed myself to shake apart. My lungs burned with suppressed sobs as I pressed my fist against my mouth to stay silent.
I'd spent nearly three years building a life for Leo and me, from the moment I learned I was pregnant. Years of late nights and early mornings, of budgeting every penny, of singing him to sleep when he was sick, and celebrating every milestone. Years of believing I could handle anything life threw at us.
But I was wrong.
Cassian Barone isn't a man. He's a storm—and I've just landed in the eye of it.
CHAPTER 11
Cassian
The door closed with a soft click that belied the hurricane raging inside me. I crossed my office in three long strides, then turned and paced back, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet.
I wasn't a man who lost control. Control was currency. Control was power. But right now, my fingers itched to break something.
She'd hidden my son. My flesh and blood. For over two years.
I stopped at the window, staring out at the Manhattan skyline without seeing it. The memory of Isla's face when I confronted her burned behind my eyes—the panic, the resignation, the fear. Good. She should be afraid. Anyone else who'd crossed me this way would already be begging for mercy.
But she wasn't anyone else. And the child—Leo—wasn't just a pawn in this game.
He was my son.
The words still felt foreign on my tongue, a language I'd never expected to learn. I'd spent a lifetime ensuring I wouldn't follow in my father's footsteps, wouldn't create a child who'd grow up under the shadow of the family business. Yet here we were.
"She hid my son from me," I whispered to the empty room. "That's war. But war has rules—and I make them."
I moved to my desk and pulled up Isla's employee file on my computer. The background check had been thorough—or so I'd thought. Clearly, I needed to have a conversation with my security team about their definition of "comprehensive."
There. An emergency contact from her initial paperwork. Maya Chen. I cross-referenced the number and found an address in Brooklyn. Same building as Isla's apartment. The pieces clicked into place—the neighbor, the friend, the babysitter.
I pulled up Maya Chen's details. The address matched Isla's building—one floor below. A quick search revealed she ran an in-home daycare. Sunshine Steps. Small, licensed, excellent word-of-mouth reviews. The kind of place a protective mother would choose. Which meant Leo was there. Right now. One floor below Isla's apartment.
My intercom buzzed. "Mr. Barone, your three o'clock is here."
"Cancel it," I said, already reaching for my jacket. "Cancel my last two meetings. Something urgent has come up."
"Yes, sir. Should I reschedule for—"
"I'll let you know." I cut the connection, pocketed my phone, and headed for the door.
The security team downstairs didn't question me as I bypassed my usual car and driver and took one of the unmarked SUVs from the garage instead. Twenty minutes later, I parked half a block from Isla's building, engine off, tinted windows providing the privacy I needed.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the building. My son was in there.
According to the daycare's schedule—publicly available on their website—outdoor play was from 3:30 to 4:00. I checked my watch. 3:25.
Five minutes.
I got out and walked to where I could see the building's small courtyard through the fence. Right on schedule, the door opened, and a woman emerged with four small children.
Maya Chen. I recognized her from the social media photos I'd found. And with her…
My breath stopped.
Dark curly hair. Small for his age but sturdy. Running toward the playground equipment with single-minded determination.
