Chapter 1
The underground members’ parking level beneath the Mafia-owned Manhattan hotel was bathed in bright, cinematic fluorescent light. There was no yellow tint to the illumination; it was a crisp, clinical white that starkly highlighted the cold concrete pillars and polished floors. Above them, a lavish gala was in full swing, but down here in the cavernous garage, a far more sinister scene was unfolding. Beside the private VIP elevator, a makeshift storage area held rolling luggage carts, padded court-divider racks, folded event-canopy frames, heavy coat trunks, equipment cases, and a scattering of foam training cones.
Standing alone beside a massive concrete pillar was three-year-old Tobin Ashford. His fair, rosy skin was smudged with dirt from the garage floor. Unlike the elite guests upstairs, the little boy was wearing torn, filthy clothes. He was visibly exhausted, his small shoulders slumped as he hugged a battered stuffed shark tightly to his chest. His wide, tear-filled eyes darted nervously between the impeccably dressed adults.
A large, hastily packed trunk containing his clothes and crayon drawings sat right beside him.
Sybil Ashford, Gavin’s sixty-five-year-old mother, stood over the trunk. She wore an elegant, sweeping gala gown paired with heavy pearl jewelry, rings, and sharp heels. Beside her stood Vanessa Cole, a thirty-two-year-old woman radiating arrogant confidence in a luxurious evening gown, dripping in diamond jewelry.
Sybil sneered, her eyes raking over her own grandson with disgust. She placed her manicured hands on the heavy trunk and violently pushed it across the polished concrete directly toward Vanessa. The wheels squeaked loudly in the echoing garage.
"Vanessa’s son gets your bedroom," Sybil said coldly, her voice sharp and devoid of any warmth. She looked down her nose at the trembling three-year-old. "You stay down here. It is about time this family brought in proper blood."
Tobin sniffled, squeezing the stuffed shark so hard his tiny knuckles turned white. He looked toward his father, Gavin, who was standing a few paces away. Gavin, a thirty-eight-year-old man in an expensive tailored tuxedo, simply looked down at his polished leather shoes, nervously twisting his wedding ring. He didn't say a word to defend his son.
"Did you hear her, boy?" Vanessa added, stepping closer to the trunk with a triumphant smirk. "You don't belong upstairs anymore. Gavin and I are going to have a real family now."
"My mom is going to be mad," Tobin whispered, his voice shaking terribly as a fresh tear spilled down his dirty, rosy cheek. "She's going to come get me."
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"Your mother is busy losing her grip on the council," Sybil laughed harshly, adjusting her pearl necklace. "By the time she realizes what is happening, Gavin will have taken his rightful place. Now sit down and keep quiet before I give you a real reason to cry."
Tobin pressed his back flat against the freezing concrete pillar, entirely alone and terrified, waiting for a savior he hoped was still coming.
