Chapter 225

He set down his knife and fork. He looked at his mother, then his father, then his grandfather.

The silence in the room became absolute.

“What?” Jeraldine whispered.

“Tonight,” Hilliard said. “At Kegan’s house. Elia.”

“Elia?” Jeraldine scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “That little girl we met at the estate? The one Ashley claimed was hers? Don’t be absurd, Hilliard. You told us yourself the DNA test came back a zero percent match. There is no secret heir.”

“The test was faked by Kegan,” Hilliard said. “She has the Moon.”

Jeraldine dropped her fork. It struck the china with a sharp, ringing clatter.

“On her back,” Hilliard continued. “The mark.”

Amerigo stopped eating. He lowered his spoon slowly. His eyes, usually softened by age, sharpened into something predatory.

“And there are two others,” Hilliard said. “Boys. Aron and Davy.”

“Triplets?” Jeraldine breathed. “My god.”

“Three Holloway heirs,” Vance said with a low whistle. “Damn, cousin. You don’t do things by halves.”

Preston’s expression shifted. The anger drained away, replaced by something colder and more calculated. “Three? Are you certain they’re yours?”

“The girl is undeniably mine,” Hilliard said. “And the boys — they hacked into my company’s systems. They have the Holloway intellect.”

Amerigo wiped his mouth with his napkin. He did not stand. He simply raised his cane and pointed it at Hilliard.

“Forget the lawsuit,” he said. “Forget Charla. Get those children.”

“Cailin won’t give them up,” Hilliard said. “She hates us.”

“She is legally your wife,” Amerigo said. “They are legally your children. Use the lawyers. Use the police. Use force if you must. But bring them here.”

“I don’t want to take them from her,” Hilliard said, rising to face his grandfather. “I want to bring her back too. I want my family — whole.”

“Then you have a great deal of groveling ahead of you,” Vance muttered into his glass.

“I’m going to get them,” Hilliard said. “Tonight.”

“Good,” Amerigo said. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

The threat settled over the table like a cold fog. Hilliard understood exactly what it meant. Amerigo would use ruthless, surgical force. He would dismantle Cailin entirely to secure the heirs. Hilliard had to reach her first — to protect her.

Again.

The Obsidian Suite was a private, soundproofed lounge deep within one of Kegan’s secure downtown properties. It smelled of expensive perfume and aged leather — the kind of place where people went to hide in plain sight.

Cailin sat in a corner booth, a glass of water and a small prescription bottle of painkillers on the table in front of her. She had taken one an hour ago, but the throbbing in her arm was still a roaring fire. The medication was beginning to soften the edges, though it was also making her thoughts drift and her emotions uncomfortably raw.

Ashley sat across from her, looking worried.

“We need to go, Cailin. Kegan’s lawyers will have him out by morning, but until then, we are exposed.”