THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE TOLD ME TO SEAT HIS SEVENTY-EIGHT-YEAR-OLD FORMER HOUSEKEEPER IN THE KITCHEN—BUT WHEN I BROUGHT HER TO THE ENGAGEMENT TABLE, LUCA MORETTI STOOD UP AND CALLED HER “MAMA ROSA.”

The darkness inside the cellar became instantly suffocating.

Luca reacted with blinding, lethal speed. He killed the tactical flashlight, caught me by the waist, and pulled me behind the massive stone chimney breast before the first volley of gunfire shattered the stillness of the night.

*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*

Automatic rifle rounds tore through the heavy wooden storm doors above, splintering the aged cedar into flying shards, kicking up clouds of stone dust and pulverized dirt across the cellar floor.

“Luca!” Salvatore Bellini’s voice boomed through the ventilation grate, heavy, gravelly, and dripping with arrogance. “You should have stayed in Chicago and eaten that old peasant’s pie! Did you really think Vanessa wouldn't put an air-tag tracker in the lining of that wedding ring she threw back at you?”

Luca pressed his back against the stone fireplace, his arm wrapped firmly around me, shielding my body with his broad, muscular frame. His breathing was slow, measured, and entirely under control.

“Vanessa was always predictable, Salvatore!” Luca shouted back through the gloom. “Just like her father! You never had the stomach to face a Moretti head-on! You always need a locked door and a hired gun!”

“I have twenty men surrounding this cottage, boy!” Salvatore sneered. “And two barrels of aviation fuel waiting to be poured down that cellar hatch! Hand over Arthur’s ledgers, and I will let the girl walk away into the woods! Keep them, and you both burn until there is nothing left to bury!”

Luca looked down at me in the darkness. His eyes were inches from mine, burning with an unyielding, fierce protection that made my racing heart steady itself.

“Emma,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “Listen to me carefully.”

“I’m listening, Luca,” I whispered back, my hand resting over the hard Kevlar of his tactical vest.

“The root cellar connects to an old Prohibition escape tunnel behind the wine racks,” Luca said rapidly. “It empties out fifty yards down the bluff, into the boathouse on the beach. There is an offshore speedboat tied to the slip.”

He pressed the small velvet jeweler’s box containing his mother’s emerald ring into my coat pocket, then shoved the heavy leather satchel holding the 1994 ledgers into my arms.

“You take the tunnel,” Luca commanded softly. “You get to the boat. The ignition keys are in the magnetic box beneath the helm.”

“No!” I choked out, tears of panic stinging my eyes. “I am not leaving you down here to burn!”

“I am not burning, Emma,” Luca smiled—a terrifying, predatory smirk that gleamed in the faint moonlight filtering through the bullet holes in the ceiling. “They think I’m trapped down here with a pistol. They don't know that my father kept four crates of high-explosive breaching charges in the false wall behind the furnace.”

My eyes widened in shock. “Luca...”

“You have to secure those ledgers, Emma,” Luca said, his fingers cupping my face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “If I die, those books are the only thing that will keep Rosa safe. If you get those ledgers to Elder Capo Barzini in Chicago, the commission will strip Salvatore’s empire by dawn.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against mine.

The kiss was sudden, fierce, and electrifying, carrying the taste of danger, smoke, and an ancient, unbreakable vow. It took the breath straight out of my lungs, anchoring my soul to his with terrifying certainty.

“Go, Emma,” Luca whispered, releasing me. “Now.”

He turned, racked the slide of his Beretta, and fired three rapid shots through the ventilation grate.

A scream of pain echoed from above as one of Salvatore’s mercenaries collapsed outside the hatch.

I turned toward the back wall, found the hidden wooden latch behind the dusty wine racks, and squeezed through the narrow, unlit stone tunnel leading toward the lake.

The tunnel was cold, damp, and smelled of wet clay. I ran with my head bowed, clutching the heavy satchel of ledgers against my chest, the velvet ring box pressing against my ribs.

Behind me, the world exploded into thunder.

A concussive shockwave ripped through the earth, shaking dust and loose stones down from the tunnel ceiling.

Luca had detonated the breaching charges.

Screams, automatic gunfire, and the roar of a collapsing stone foundation echoed through the subterranean passage.

I burst out of the tunnel into the freezing spray of Lake Michigan.

The boathouse was dark, illuminated only by the flickering orange flames rising from the burning cottage at the top of the bluff.

Tied to the wooden slip was a midnight-black, twin-engine Cigarette racing boat.

I scrambled onto the deck, threw the satchel into the passenger seat, and reached beneath the helm. My trembling fingers found the magnetic box, popping it open to reveal the brass ignition key.

Suddenly, a heavy combat boot crashed down onto the gunwale of the boat.

A massive hand reached into the cockpit, grabbing me by the collar of my coat, hauling me violently to my feet.

Standing over me, his scarred face illuminated by the burning fire on the hill, was Gino Bellini—Vanessa’s younger brother.

In his right hand was a chrome revolver, pointed directly between my eyes.