MY HUSBAND CHOSE HIS FAMILY AND TOLD ME TO PACK MY BAGS — SO I TOOK OUR 3-YEAR-OLD SON AND VANISHED OVERSEAS.

I didn't run. Running makes you look like prey, and it draws attention. I gripped the handles of my woven shopping bag, kept my head down, and turned into a narrow, winding alleyway that led toward the residential district.

I heard his heavy footsteps echoing on the cobblestone behind me. He was closing the distance.

"Maya," a deep, raspy voice called out.

I stopped. I turned around slowly.

Marcus Vance stood ten feet away, a cold, empty look in his eyes. "Mr. Sterling wants his grandson back. You can make this easy and come with me, or I can make a phone call to the Italian authorities, claim you're an international fugitive, and let them rip the kid out of your arms."

"You have no jurisdiction here," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"I don't need jurisdiction. I have money and influence," Marcus stepped closer. "David is filing for emergency full custody in the States. He's claiming you're mentally unstable."

"David is broke," I spat back. "His family is under federal indictment."

"Arthur's friends are footing the bill," Marcus smiled grimly. "Pack your bags, Maya. The vacation is over."

He reached out to grab my arm.

Before his fingers could touch me, a heavy wooden door in the alley swung open. Mateo, the elderly Italian man who owned the bakery and whose granddaughter played with Leo, stepped out. He was holding a heavy cast-iron baker's paddle. Behind him stood his two adult sons, both built like linebackers.

"Is there a problem, Elena?" Mateo asked in thick, broken English, his eyes fixed dangerously on Marcus.