THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME HIDE MY CRUSHED KNUCKLES WHILE SERVING HIS COFFEE—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CAUGHT IT IN THE CREDENZA HINGE,” BEFORE HE COULD EVEN UTTER A WORD.

By 2:00 PM, the grand dining hall had been cleared and the estate had entered a state of complete administrative transformation.

Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Vance and his task force formally executed the asset forfeiture warrants on the Bellini shipping conglomerate.

With the decrypted banking records from Nassau, Charles Vance’s signed confession, and the recovered bearer bonds, the Department of Justice seized eighty million dollars in commercial dock leases, twenty-eight freight vessels, and four private banking facilities.

Salvatore Bellini was remanded to maximum security at the federal penitentiary in Pollock, Louisiana, facing consecutive life terms for interstate racketeering, commercial extortion, and conspiracy to commit murder.

Vanessa Bellini was transferred to the federal women’s correctional facility in Tallahassee, Florida, denied bail on felony conspiracy, grand larceny, and corporate fraud charges carrying a mandatory minimum sentence of thirty-five years.

Her designer wardrobes, her penthouse on Saint Charles Avenue, and her offshore accounts were completely liquidated by federal court decree, with seventy-five percent of the recovered capital transferred directly into the newly chartered Clara Reed Medical Trust.

Meanwhile, at the Moretti mansion, Mrs. Gable and the senior household staff were systematically clearing every trace of Vanessa’s presence.

Her imported linens, her French perfumes, and her luxury vanity sets were boxed and donated to municipal shelters across New Orleans.

The master bedroom on the second floor was completely refurbished with airy cream linen curtains, fresh bouquets of white hydrangeas, and soft wool rugs that let the autumn sunlight flood every corner.

I sat in the master library on the second floor, resting on the velvet chaise lounge, my cast propped up on a silk cushion.

Beside me on the low table sat a fresh pot of herbal tea and a plate of warm pecan shortbread that Mrs. Gable had baked with a beaming smile.

The double mahogany doors swung open.

Luca walked in.

He had removed his tuxedo jacket and tie, wearing an open-collared white dress shirt and dark trousers, looking relaxed, powerful, and breathtakingly handsome.

He walked straight to where I was sitting, dropping down onto one knee on the Persian rug beside the lounge.

He reached out, his large, warm hand gently taking my uninjured fingers into his own.

“How does the hand feel, Elena?” he asked softly, his gray eyes searching mine with an ocean of protective tenderness.

“It doesn't hurt anymore, Luca,” I whispered, a radiant smile touching my lips. “Dr. Vance said the bones are setting perfectly. I’ll have ninety percent mobility back in three weeks.”

Luca leaned forward, his thumb gently stroking my cheekbone.

“Your mother Clara called from Ochsner ten minutes ago,” he murmured, his deep baritone rumbling with joy. “She completed her first therapy session. She asked if she could visit the estate gardens this weekend.”

Tears of pure happiness welled in my eyes.

“She can walk through the magnolia grove, Luca. She’s dreamed of seeing the river her entire life.”