Dante’s thumb brushed the worn canvas frame, his mind racing through the mathematical impossible: if the girls were six years old, Elena had been carrying his children the very night her car went over the embankment on Interstate 93.

The safehouse in the Berkshire Mountains was a modern fortress of reinforced steel, concrete, and bulletproof glass, hidden deep within two hundred acres of private pine forest.

For the first forty-eight hours, the estate operated like a high-security military command post. Medical staff worked round-the-clock examining Elena and the triplets. The girls, accustomed to living off cheap canned soup and drafty rooms, were overwhelmed by the sprawling warm bedrooms, endless supplies of hot food, and plush toys that Dante had ordered by the truckload.

Dante stood behind the glass wall of the grand living room, watching Elena teach the girls how to play the grand piano in the corner. His heart felt heavy, torn between a profound, overwhelming love and an all-consuming rage.

Vance, his master of intelligence, walked up behind him, sliding a thick leather portfolio onto the table.

"You were right, Dante," Vance said quietly. "The medical examiner from seven years ago mysteriously bought a five-million-dollar estate in Miami two weeks after Elena’s 'death.' The police report was falsified. Victor orchestrated the entire thing. He used your grief to take control of the family's shipping lines and illegal port operations."

"Where is Victor now?" Dante asked without taking his eyes off Elena.

"He knows you skipped the North End meeting. He knows you rescued Elena," Vance replied. "He’s barricaded himself inside the estate in Brookline. He’s called in mercenary teams from abroad. He’s telling the Commission that you've lost your mind over a dead woman and that you're unfit to lead the Russo syndicate."

Dante took a slow sip of his bourbon. "Let him call the Commission. Gather the Capos. Tell them we are holding an emergency council meeting at the harbor warehouse tomorrow at midnight."

"And Victor?"

"Tell Victor if he shows up, I’ll give him the chance to explain himself to the family," Dante said softly. "And if he doesn't show up, I’ll tear down every building in Massachusetts with his name on it."

That evening, Dante entered the master suite. Elena was standing by the window, wrapped in a soft cashmere robe, looking out at the snow falling over the pines.

He walked up behind her, putting his hands gently on her hips. She leaned back against his chest, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

"They look so much like you, Dante," she whispered. "Clara has your stubbornness. Mia has your quiet way of watching everything. Lily... Lily just wants everyone to be safe."

"I missed six years of their lives," Dante said, his voice thick with uncharacteristic pain. "Six years of yours."