SHE THOUGHT NOBODY WAS WATCHING HER PUSH THE 500-POUND CAKE ONTO HER 3-YEAR-OLD STEPSON—UNTIL HIS BILLIONAIRE FATHER TURNED HER LIFE INTO ASHES!

Marcus froze in the doorway, his rifle lowering by an inch.

The resemblance was undeniable. Looking at the boy was like looking at a male reincarnation of Elena. The shape of his cheekbones, the faint cleft in his chin, the intense, curious gaze of his hazel eyes.

"Marcus Vance," Dr. Thorne said, his voice smooth, cultured, entirely devoid of panic. "I must compliment your tactical response time. I anticipated twelve hours. You arrived in eight."

Marcus didn't look at the doctor. His eyes remained locked on the boy, who had stopped drawing and was now staring at Marcus with wide, fearless eyes.

"What is his name?" Marcus asked, his voice tight.

"He doesn't have one," Thorne replied calmly. "Here, he is known simply as Subject Alpha. His legal existence was extinguished thirty seconds after his birth in the Alps. But biologically... he is your true blood, Marcus. Your DNA, Elena’s DNA. The sole legitimate heir to the Vance fortune."

"Where is Cassandra?" Marcus demanded, stepping forward, his rifle snapping back up to Thorne’s forehead.

"Cassandra outlived her usefulness the moment she contacted you in San Pedro," Thorne smiled thinly. "She was an unstable, greedy amateur. She thought she could play both sides—sell the truth to you and sell the child to a Russian consortium. I had her disposed of in the harbor two hours ago."

Thorne opened his arms wide. "So here we are, Marcus. The great titan. You have your true son back. But there is a complication, isn't there?"

Thorne reached into his breast pocket. Nathan raised his sidearm instantly, but Thorne merely pulled out a remote detonator.

"That island fortress has three tons of C4 wired into its foundations," Thorne whispered. "And the safehouse in Zurich where you left Victoria's child? It is currently surrounded by six of my best snipers. If my pulse stops, or if I press this switch, both locations are eradicated."

Marcus didn't flinch. "What do you want, Thorne?"

"I want the Vance Global biometric encryption keys," Thorne said, his eyes glittering with cold avarice. "Transfer the patents to my Swiss foundation, and you walk out of here with your blood son. Victoria's boy in Zurich lives. You get to play father to two boys who can never know the truth about each other."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then both boys die tonight," Thorne said. "And you will spend the rest of your pathetic life knowing that your arrogance murdered both the child you raised and the child you abandoned."

The silence in the grand hall was absolute, save for the crackle of the thunder outside.

The little boy on the floor looked up at Marcus, then tilted his head. "Are you the man from the picture?" he asked, his voice soft, speaking in pristine, accentless English.

Marcus’s chest tightened. "What picture, son?"

The boy held up his sketch pad. On the page was a remarkably detailed pencil drawing of Marcus standing on the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, holding a soccer ball.

"A lady with dark hair brought it to me," the boy whispered. "She said you were coming to take me home."