THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO THROW HIS LATE MOTHER’S OLD SEWING BOX IN THE TRASH BEFORE THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN IT FELL OPEN IN FRONT OF FORTY GUESTS, LUCA MORETTI HEARD A VOICE HE HADN’T HEARD IN TWENTY-TWO YEARS.

The air inside Room 318 went dead still.

Matteo’s hand flew to his sidearm, the slide clearing leather before Luca raised a single palm, freezing his security chief in place.

“Marcus Vance,” Luca murmured, his voice laced with venomous recognition. “The federal prosecutor who led the 2003 task force against my father. The papers reported your Cessna went down off the coast of Gary, Indiana, three days before my mother disappeared.”

“A very convenient accident, wasn't it?” Vance replied calmly, leaning back in the leather chair, clasping his liver-spotted hands over his waistcoat. “Arranged by Marco Bellini’s private mechanics. They put sugar in my fuel tank and cut the emergency radio lines. But what Marco didn't know was that your mother had already made contact with my task force forty-eight hours prior.”

Lucia Moretti stepped into the room, coming to stand beside her son. Her presence was regal, commanding total deference from every man in the room.

“Marcus was the only man in Chicago who couldn't be bought by the Bellini trust, Luca,” Lucia explained, her voice steady and clear. “When his plane went down, our covert protection detail pulled him from the wreckage before Marco’s hitmen could verify the body. We knew that if Marcus died, the legal evidence against the Bellini cartel would vanish with him.”

Vance tapped the thick leather portfolio on the desk.

“Your mother realized that Arthur was preparing to sign a tripartite pact that would surrender forty percent of the Chicago docks to the Bellini syndicate. Marco was using the syndicate’s commercial shipping lines to move illegal munitions and synthetic narcotics while laundering the proceeds through offshore trusts in the Cayman Islands.”

Vance turned the portfolio toward Luca.

“Lucia didn't just walk into St. Catherine’s as a prisoner, Luca. She walked in as a trojan horse.”

Luca’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “What are you saying?”

“Marco Bellini thought he was locking away an inconvenient wife,” Vance smiled, a sharp, predatory glint in his old eyes. “He didn't realize that St. Catherine’s had been built on land deeded to the state judiciary in 1968. Under federal emergency statutes, this facility operated as a classified federal holding annex. For twenty-two years, your mother and I have been operating this room as an offline evidence repository.”

Vance pointed to the four massive steel filing cabinets lining the wall.

“Every wire transfer authorized by Marco Bellini since 2004. Every bribe paid to Illinois state senators. Every shipping manifest detailing the illegal weapons moving through the Port of Chicago. It’s all here, Luca. Completely cataloged, certified by three federal judges who held the files in escrow, waiting for the day Arthur died and the Moretti seat passed to you.”

Luca reached out, picking up the top ledger.

He opened it.

Dense columns of numbers, bank routing codes from Zurich, and the unmistakable, arrogant signature of Marco Bellini filled every single page.

And pinned to the final page was a document that made Luca’s blood run cold:

*Contract for Vehicular Sabotage — Target: Arthur Moretti. Date: October 12, 2018.*

Luca’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle in his temple jumped violently.

“My father’s heart attack six years ago,” Luca whispered, the words coated in ice. “It wasn't medical failure.”

“Potassium chloride administered through an aerosol inhaler provided by Vanessa Bellini’s personal physician,” Vance confirmed grimly. “They eliminated your father once he became an obstacle to the merger, and then they offered Vanessa to you to consolidate the final pieces of the empire.”

Suddenly, the tactical radio on Matteo’s chest crackled with violent, screaming static:

*“BOSS! BREACH AT THE MAIN GATE! THREE ARMORED SUBURBANS AND TWO COMMERCIAL FLATBEDS! IT’S MARCO BELLINI’S PRIVATE STRIKE TEAM! THEY’VE SURROUNDED THE FACILITY WITH THERMITE CHARGES!”*

A heavy concussive explosion rattled the floorboards beneath our feet.

Dust drifted down from the ceiling plaster like gray snow.

Luca didn't flinch. He closed the federal ledger with a clean, resounding thud.

He turned to Matteo.

“Secure the ledgers. Escort my mother and Mr. Vance to the reinforced service tunnel beneath the boiler room.”

Luca reached beneath his coat, drawing his second sidearm, offering it to me.

“Emma.”

I stepped forward, looking into his obsidian eyes.

“Yes, Luca?”

“Stay beside my mother,” he commanded softly, his hand lingering over mine as my fingers closed around the cold checkered grip of the pistol. “Whatever happens out there, do not let them take her.”

“I will protect her with my life, Luca,” I promised.

A rare, devastatingly beautiful smirk touched his lips.