THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME A THIEVING LITTLE MAID—BUT THREE TINY NUMBERS INSIDE HER ENGAGEMENT RING EXPOSED A SECRET SHE NEVER WANTED LUCA TO DISCOVER

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One year later.

The private terrace of the Villa Moretti, perched high upon the sun-drenched cliffs overlooking Lake Como, Italy, was fragrant with the scent of blooming lemon blossoms and sea salt.

The turquoise waters of the Mediterranean stretched out toward the horizon, shimmering under a golden midday sun. Below the terrace, a private wooden speedboat bobbed gently at the stone slipway, waiting to take us across the bay to Bellagio for afternoon gelato.

I sat in a wide, white wicker armchair, sipping freshly squeezed blood orange juice, watching the gentle breeze ripple through the olive groves.

I was twenty-eight years old now.

On my left ring finger, the *Moretti Star* caught the brilliant Italian sunlight, throwing rainbows across the pages of the architectural blueprint spread out on the glass table before me.

We were designing the new *Helena Reed Foundation for Gemological Arts and Ethics* in downtown Chicago—a ten-million-dollar non-profit academy dedicated to providing free, high-end technical training, apprenticeships, and university scholarships to the children of working-class domestic laborers and service staff across the Midwest.

My mother was already in Chicago, serving as the foundation's honorary chairwoman, her health completely restored, living in a magnificent brownstone in Lincoln Park that Luca had purchased for her as a wedding gift.

A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind.

Luca leaned down, pressing a warm kiss against the curve of my neck, his five o'clock shadow tickling my skin. He was dressed in casual, crisp white linen trousers and an open-collared navy shirt, looking relaxed, tanned, and impossibly handsome. The heavy burdens of the Chicago underworld were no longer his sole responsibility; Marco had been elevated to managing director of the legitimate shipping logistics consortium, while Luca had successfully transitioned eighty percent of the family's assets into sovereign clean-energy funds and international maritime commerce.

"You're working too hard, Mrs. Moretti," Luca whispered into my ear, his voice rich and teasing.

I smiled, leaning my head back against his chest, looking up into his slate-grey eyes.

"I’m approving the final blueprints for the student gemology laboratory, Mr. Moretti," I replied, turning my hand so the diamond brushed against his linen shirt. "We need to ensure the stereo-microscopes have proper vibration-dampening granite tables. A student can't identify a synthetic stone if the floor is shaking."

Luca laughed—a warm, rich sound that filled the sunlit terrace with pure music. He walked around the chair, sitting on the low stone balustrade in front of me, taking both of my hands into his.

"Always looking for the microscopic flaws, aren't you, my love?" he murmured, his thumb gently stroking the platinum band on my finger.

"It saved your life, didn't it?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.

"It saved my life, it saved my empire, and it brought me the only woman on earth who isn't afraid to tell me when I’m being fooled," Luca said, his expression softening into an intensity of love that still made my heart flutter just as fast as it had on the night of the gala.

A soft knock sounded at the terrace door.

Marco stepped out, dressed in a sharp Italian linen suit, holding a silver leather-bound folder.

"Pardon the interruption, Boss. Signora Moretti," Marco said, bowing his head with genuine, deep respect. "The quarterly legal report from the federal court in Illinois just arrived via encrypted courier."

Luca didn't let go of my hand. "Give us the summary, Marco."

Marco opened the folder, scanning the legal brief.

"Vanessa Bellini’s final appeal was rejected by the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals this morning," Marco reported smoothly. "Her conviction on federal wire fraud, conspiracy to commit interstate murder, and racketeering stands. Her sentence remains forty-two years at the federal correctional institution in Aliceville, Alabama. The Bellini shipping empire has been fully liquidated by bankruptcy trustees, with sixty percent of the proceeds transferred directly to the municipal port workers' pension fund."

"And Arthur Pendelton?" I asked, remembering the cold New York broker who had orchestrated the treason.

"Pendelton turned state's evidence against Don Salvatore Rossi," Marco replied with a thin, satisfied smile. "The entire Rossi high command in Manhattan has been dismantled. There is not a single syndicate left on the eastern seaboard with the appetite to challenge the Moretti name."

"Thank you, Marco," Luca nodded calmly. "Enjoy your afternoon in town."

"Thank you, Boss. Good day, Signora." Marco bowed again and retreated back inside the villa, closing the French doors softly behind him.

I looked down at the sparkling Mediterranean waters, feeling a deep, profound sense of peace settle over my bones.

Justice had been served. The traitors who had thought they could crush an honest girl beneath their designer heels were rotting inside concrete cells, their fortunes stripped, their arrogance forgotten. And the girl they had mocked as a "thieving little maid" was sitting beneath the Italian sun, loved beyond measure by the most powerful man in Chicago.

Luca reached out, gently tilting my chin upward so my eyes met his.

"What are you thinking about, Emma?" he asked softly.

I looked into the eyes of the man who had laid down his empire, his soldiers, and his heart to protect me. I felt the cool weight of the platinum on my finger—a ring that no longer represented crime, fear, or bloodline debts, but an unbreakable covenant of truth, honor, and eternal devotion.

"I was thinking about three tiny numbers," I whispered, smiling as I leaned forward into his embrace.

Luca chuckled, his lips brushing against mine. "Nine-twenty-five?"

"Nine-twenty-five," I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a deep, lingering kiss as the afternoon sun painted the Italian cliffs in brilliant shades of gold. "The three best numbers of my life."

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