His Wife Had Disappeared Four Years Earlier, and He Believed Everything She Owned Was Destroyed—Until His Fiancée Tried Desperately to Hide One Locked Suitcase.

"Grace," Vincent choked out.

He let me gently down to my feet, but his legs seemed to give way. The fearsome mafia don collapsed to both knees on the cold flagstones of the church aisle. He didn't reach for his gun. He dropped his gloves to the floor, his hands trembling violently.

The elderly nun stepped forward defensively, holding her crucifix high. "Stand back! In the name of God, who are you? Daniel said—"

"Sister Mary Catherine," I called out, stepping past Vincent, leaning heavily against the wooden pews to support my aching belly. I pulled the silver key from around my wrist and held it out in the candlelight. "Daniel sent us. The storm broke."

The old nun looked at the silver key. Her stern, weathered face softened instantly, tears filling her aged eyes. She lowered the cross.

"You... you are Clara," the nun whispered, looking from my face to my swollen stomach. "Daniel talked about you every time he brought supplies. He said his Clara was an angel on earth."

The little girl stepped out from behind the nun’s habit.

She was small for four years old, but her eyes held a solemn, haunting intelligence that belonged to someone who had spent her entire childhood in hiding. She looked at me, then her gaze drifted down to the man kneeling on the floor.

Vincent was weeping silently, his broad shoulders trembling, his hands pressed flat against the stone floor as if he didn't dare reach out and shatter the vision before him.

"Daddy?" Grace whispered.

The word was so small, so fragile, it sounded like the brush of a moth's wing.

Vincent lifted his head. "Yes, my little bird," he choked out, using the exact codename Daniel had hidden in the locket. "It's Daddy. I'm here. I'm so sorry it took me so long. I'm so sorry..."

Grace didn't run away. She didn't scream.

She clutched her one-eared teddy bear, walked with small, steady steps across the flagstones, and stopped right in front of Vincent. She reached out one tiny, warm hand and pressed her palm against his wet cheek, wiping away a tear with her little thumb.

"Uncle Daniel said you were fighting monsters," Grace said solemnly. "He said when the monsters were gone, you would come in a big flying bird to take me home."

Vincent let out a broken sob, pulling his daughter into his arms, burying his face in her small neck. He held her with a ferocity that defied death itself, rocking her against his chest as if he would never let go.

I leaned against the pew, weeping openly, the overwhelming relief washing over me so intensely that my knees buckled. Dr. Ramos caught me, guiding me down onto the polished wood bench.

"Uncle Daniel went to sleep," Grace whispered into Vincent’s shoulder. "The bad men came to our house in Chicago, and Uncle Daniel told me to stay with Sister Mary. Is Uncle Daniel coming too?"

Vincent pulled back, looking into his daughter’s eyes, his face a canvas of profound sorrow and eternal gratitude.

"Uncle Daniel is watching over us from heaven, Grace," Vincent said softly. "And he sent us someone very special."

Vincent turned, gesturing toward me.

Grace looked at me. Her little eyes widened. She pointed a tiny finger at my rounded stomach.

"Baby sister?" she asked.

A watery laugh escaped my lips through my tears. "Cousin, sweetheart. But I promise you, she’s going to love you more than anyone in this world."

Grace walked over to the pew, leaning her head against my belly. Inside, as if on cue, my baby gave a gentle, distinct flutter. Grace gasped in delight, giggling as the kick pressed against her cheek.

For sixty glorious seconds, the war outside ceased to exist.