Dante couldn’t breathe.

The name just sat there in his chest, heavy as stone.

Gregory.

His uncle.

His father’s own brother.

The guy who’d hugged him tight at the funeral, eyes wet, telling him it was going to be okay. The same man who stood by him when the whole world collapsed, who kept saying, “Be strong, Dante. We’ll hold this family together.”

All of it… bullshit.

Dante’s fingers curled into a fist, slow and tight.

“You’re sure?” His voice came out raw, almost broken. “It was really Gregory?”

Marcus didn’t even blink.

“I traced the money. Three accounts. All of them lead straight back to him.”

Sienna moved closer,...