“SHE ABANDONED THIS FAMILY FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. DON'T YOU DARE OFFER HER A SEAT!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S AUNT HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD MAID FOR HELPING A POORLY DRESSED WOMAN AT HIS BIRTHDAY DINNER—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI RECOGNIZED THE WOMAN STANDING BEHIND HIS MAID, HE ASKED ONE QUESTION THAT MADE HIS AUNT DROP HER CHAMPAGNE GLASS.

The grand banquet hall was dark, the crystal chandeliers dimmed, leaving only the security lights flickering along the covered corridors.

In the private master study on the second floor, a massive fire of split hickory crackled in the limestone hearth, throwing warm, amber light across hand-carved mahogany bookshelves and Persian rugs.

Anna sat on the deep velvet sofa, wrapped in a plush cashmere shawl, holding a warm mug of peppermint tea that Mrs. Carter had prepared with a motherly smile.

Beside her sat Grace, wearing clean cotton pajamas, leaning her head against her mother's shoulder, her fingers intertwined with Anna's calloused hand, completely unwilling to let go for even a single second.

Luca sat on the leather ottoman opposite them, wearing an unbuttoned white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his corded forearms.

On the low cherrywood table between them lay an antique iron lockbox that Daniel had retrieved from Celia’s private townhouse on Lake Shore Drive thirty minutes earlier.

Luca used a tempered steel pick to pop the internal latch.

He lifted the heavy lid.

Inside lay the original 2011 adoption surrender papers, signed with a forged stamp of Anna Moretti's signature, alongside the private hospital records from the Saint Anthony clinic on Taylor Street.

Attached to the birth certificate was Marco Rossi’s original union life insurance policy—worth two million dollars—which Celia had collected and laundered through an offshore shell company in Bermuda forty-eight hours after his death on the Skyway.

Luca’s jaw tightened until the bone looked ready to split his skin.

“She murdered Marco, Anna,” Luca said, his voice flat as an iron slab. “The accident report from the Skyway was signed by a corrupt precinct captain who retired to Palm Beach three weeks later on a pension funded by Celia’s foundation.”

Anna closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath, pressing her daughter closer to her chest.

“Marco loved you, Grace,” Anna whispered into the girl’s curls. “He was building a nursery in our little apartment over the bakery. He had carved a wooden mobile of sea birds to hang above your crib.”

Grace wiped a tear from her cheek, looking up at her uncle.

“Uncle Luca... what will happen to Grandma Celia?”

Luca looked at his niece, his slate-gray eyes softening into an expression of unyielding, absolute sanctuary.

“Celia Moretti will spend the rest of her days in a federal correctional facility in Danbury, Connecticut, Grace,” Luca answered gently. “She will never touch a dollar of your father’s legacy, and she will never cast a shadow over this house again.”

The study door opened softly.

I walked into the room carrying a tray of fresh lemon shortbread and warm cider. I had changed into an elegant, simple navy wool dress that Mrs. Carter had brought down from the guest suites, my dark hair falling naturally over my shoulders.

When Luca saw me, he rose to his full height.

He walked over to the doorway, taking the heavy silver tray from my hands and setting it onto the sideboard with effortless ease.

He looked down into my hazel eyes, his presence commanding, powerful, and breathtakingly whole.

“How is your mother resting, Emma?” he asked softly.

“Daniel called her ten minutes ago, Mr. Moretti,” I answered, a radiant smile touching my lips. “The bank delivered the canceled mortgage deed to her front door with a dozen white roses. She was crying so hard she could barely read the seal.”

Luca smiled—that rare, stunning smile that completely transformed his rugged, dangerous face.

“Your mother raised an honest daughter, Emma,” he murmured, his deep baritone rumbling with emotion. “In a city full of wolves, you were the only person who stood up for what was right.”