For several seconds she didn’t know where she was.

Then pain arrived.

Her temple throbbed.

Her cheek felt swollen.

Her left shoulder burned.

And when she tried to move, nausea rolled through her stomach so violently that she closed her eyes again.

“Easy.”

The voice was unfamiliar.

A nurse leaned over her.

“You’re at St. Catherine’s Hospital. You were unconscious for several minutes, but your scans look reassuring. You have a concussion, facial bruising, and seven stitches near your hairline.”

Amelia swallowed.

Memory returned in pieces.

Raymond.

His fingers around her wrist.

His smile.

The punch.

Then darkness.

Her heart monitor accelerated.

“My bag.”

“You’re safe.”

“My bag. Where is it?”

The nurse pointed toward a chair.

“Right there.”

Amelia shoved aside the blanket.

The room tilted.

“Ma’am—”

“I need my phone.”

“Please lie back.”

“Ben.”

The name escaped her lips before she could stop it.

She found her purse and pulled out her phone.

Six missed calls.

All from Mrs. Alvarez.

Amelia’s fingers shook so badly she nearly dropped the device.

She called.

The older woman answered immediately.

“Amelia?”

“Is he there?”

“Yes.”

Amelia closed her eyes.

A sob almost broke loose.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s asleep. I saw the news alert online. Oh, sweetheart, what happened?”

“Don’t let anyone in.”

“Who?”

“Anyone.”

There was a pause.

“Is it him?”

Amelia couldn’t answer.

Mrs. Alvarez understood anyway.

“I locked everything.”

“Take Ben into your bedroom. Keep the curtains closed.”

“Amelia—”

“Please.”

“All right.”

Amelia ended the call.

Only then did she notice the man standing just outside the doorway.

Dante Castellano.

He was speaking quietly to a police detective.

His jacket was gone.

His white shirt sleeves had been rolled to his forearms.

He looked less like the untouchable businessman employees whispered about and more like a man who had been awake too long.

The detective walked away.

Dante noticed Amelia watching him.

He didn’t enter immediately.

“Can I come in?”

The question surprised her.

Raymond had never asked permission for anything.

Amelia nodded.

Dante stepped inside but remained near the door.

“They arrested Fletcher.”

Her body went rigid.

“He’ll get out.”

“Possibly.”

“He always gets out.”

Something in her voice made Dante study her.

“This happened before.”

Amelia looked away.

“That isn’t a question.”

“No.”

Silence stretched.

Dante finally pulled the visitor chair two feet away from her bed and sat.

“You said a name before you lost consciousness.”

Amelia’s eyes snapped toward him.

“Ben.”

Fear entered her expression so quickly that Dante regretted saying it.

“Who is he?”

“Nobody.”

“Fletcher looked terrified when you said his name.”

“He’s nobody.”

Dante nodded once.

“All right.”

She blinked.

“You’re not going to keep asking?”

“Not tonight.”

That answer disarmed her more effectively than interrogation would have.

Dante leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.

“The police need somewhere safe for you tonight.”

“I have an apartment.”

“They believe Fletcher may have associates who know where you live.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Are you certain?”

Amelia thought about Raymond finding Castellano’s after three years.

Her certainty vanished.

Dante noticed.

“I can arrange a hotel.”

“No.”

“One of mine.”

“No.”

“Then somewhere else.”

“I’m going home.”

“Amelia.”

“I have to.”

“Because of Ben?”

Her face closed.

Dante exhaled.

“I’m not asking who he is. I’m asking whether he’s the reason you’re willing to walk out of a hospital with a concussion after the man who assaulted you spent three years finding you.”

She stared at him.

Then the nurse returned.

“You need to rest.”

Amelia almost laughed.

Rest.

She had spent three years resting with one ear open.

Three years moving apartments whenever someone unfamiliar lingered too long near the building.

Three years inventing explanations for a four-year-old boy who wanted to know why he didn’t have a father.

Her phone rang.

Mrs. Alvarez.

Amelia answered immediately.

“What happened?”

Her neighbor was whispering.

“There’s a car outside.”

Amelia stopped breathing.

“What kind?”

“Gray SUV. Two men. They’ve been there five minutes.”

Dante stood before she finished.

“Address.”

She looked at him.

“What?”

“Give me the address.”

“I’m not telling you—”

Dante held out his hand.

“Amelia, whoever is inside that apartment matters enough that you tried to leave a hospital twenty minutes after regaining consciousness. Give me the address.”

Her eyes filled.

“Promise me something.”

“What?”

“If Raymond sent them…”

Her voice cracked.

“Don’t let them take my son.”

Everything became still.

Dante had suspected a child.

He hadn’t expected the word to affect him.

“How old?”

“Four.”

“And Fletcher?”

Amelia’s silence answered.

Dante turned toward the door.

“Marco!”

One of his security men appeared immediately.

Dante gave him the address Amelia finally whispered.

“Call CPD. Nobody approaches that apartment until police arrive. Then you go with them.”

Marco disappeared.

Amelia gripped the blanket.

Dante looked at her.