A billionaire fell to his knees in front of my six-year-old son, sobbing as he promised to leave the boy his entire fortune if he would stay and save him. While everyone believed my son was about to become the heir to an unimaginable fortune, the only thing he asked for was the truth—and his answer uncovered a secret that left the entire mansion in stunned silence.

The healing of the Almeida family seemed complete, but the dying embers of a burned snake can still bite.

It was a chilly Tuesday evening in late October.

I was in the mansion’s library, organizing the legal documents for the David Carter Foundation—a fifty-million-dollar charity Thiago had created to support the families of injured construction workers.

Suddenly, the lights in the mansion flickered once, twice, and went completely black.

"Gus?" I called out, standing up in the darkness. "Is the generator off?"

Silence.

A sudden, sharp instinct of pure maternal terror flared inside my chest. "Samuel?!"

I rushed out into the grand foyer. The moonlight streaming through the high arched windows cast long, eerie shadows across the marble floor.

"Samuel!" I screamed louder, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.

"Looking for your brat, Maya?" a raspy, unhinged voice echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

I whipped around.

Standing on the balcony above was Dr. Evans—Thiago's former private physician, the man who had helped Arthur Vance synthesize the neurotoxin. He looked disheveled, his coat torn, holding a small glass beaker filled with a dark, sloshing liquid in one hand, and a heavy tactical flashlight in the other.

Standing beside him, bound with rope and gagged with tape, was my son.

"Samuel!" I shrieked, taking a step toward the stairs.

"Don't move!" Evans roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Julian is facing life in prison! Arthur hung himself in his detention cell yesterday! My medical license is gone, my assets are frozen, and the feds are hunting me down like a dog!"

Evans pulled Samuel closer to the wooden railing. "Thiago ruined my life over this stupid kid! If I'm going to prison, I'm going to make sure Thiago's precious little heir never sees another sunrise!"

He raised the glass beaker over Samuel’s head.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward—

THWACK.

A heavy iron shovel struck Dr. Evans across the back of his knees with brutal force.

Evans shrieked in pain, collapsing onto the balcony floor, dropping the beaker. The glass shattered against the marble, the acid sizzling and smoking as it ate through the wooden floorboards inches away from Samuel.

Standing behind Dr. Evans was Gus, the elderly gardener, holding his shovel like a battleaxe.

"Nobody touches the boy on my watch," Gus growled.

Before Evans could scramble back up, Thiago—walking with a heavy wooden cane—swept around the corner of the balcony. With a roar of righteous fury, Thiago swung his solid oak cane like a baseball bat, striking Evans straight across the jaw.

The doctor crumpled to the floor, completely unconscious.

I sprinted up the stairs, threw myself onto the floor beside Samuel, and tore the tape off his mouth, pulling his small, trembling body into my arms, sobbing hysterically.

"I'm okay, Mommy," Samuel whispered into my neck, patting my back with his small hand. "Uncle Thiago got him."

Thiago leaned heavily on his cane, breathing hard, looking down at us with eyes full of fierce, protective love.