[Noah's POV]
"Where is my baby boy, Noah! Jake is just a kid!!! Where is he?"
Monica's screeching voice drilled into my temples, worse than the hangover I didn't have. She was pacing the Persian rug of my father's study, clutching a handkerchief she hadn't actually used to wipe any tears.
"For the last time, Monica," I said, my voice dangerously low as I leaned against the mahogany desk. "I didn't take Jake. I don't eat my own kind, no matter how incompetent they are."
"But the news said Velgrave!" she wailed.
"The news says what people pay it to say," I snapped. "And right now, someone is paying a lot to frame me."
I looked past my hysterical sister to the man sitting behind the desk. Marco Marlowe. My father. The Capo dei Capi of Velgrave (The Boss of Bosses of Velgrave), though he
