THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME PLACE A DINNER PLATE IN FRONT OF HIS NINE-YEAR-OLD SON AT HIS ENGAGEMENT PARTY—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE ALREADY ATE UPSTAIRS,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE LITTLE BOY HAD BEEN SITTING WITH AN EMPTY PLATE FOR NEARLY AN HOUR.

Vanessa stared down at the photographs of the transfer papers, her lips parting as she tried to form words that no longer existed.

"Luca... where... where did you—"

"It doesn't matter where I got them," Luca interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm. "What matters is that every single signature on these documents is forged. Including my own."

Vanessa straightened her shoulders, her survival instinct kicking in as she realized denial was useless.

She tilted her chin upward, her eyes hardening into shards of glass.

"And what if I did?" she snapped, abandoning her sweet persona entirely. "You think you're untouchable, Luca? You think the Moretti empire is built on honor and bedtime stories? Your father built this syndicate on blood and betrayal, and you’re getting soft because of a nine-year-old boy!"

Luca didn't blink.

"You tried to take my son," he said, stepping closer.

"I tried to secure our future!" Vanessa shouted, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "The Brighton syndicate offered us a permanent partnership across the entire eastern seaboard. No more turf wars, no more federal investigations! All I had to do was hand over a grieving, weak-willed child who doesn't even belong in your world anyway!"

Before she could finish the sentence, Luca’s hand moved so fast it blurred in the dim light.

CRACK.

The sound of his open palm striking her cheek echoed through the suite.

Vanessa stumbled backward, crashing against the edge of the dressing table, a red welt instantly blooming across her pale skin.

She touched her cheek, staring at him with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You're going to pay for this," she whispered, wiping a drop of blood from her lip. "My uncles won't let this go. They’ll burn this estate to the ground before the sun comes up."

"Let them try," Luca replied coldly. He turned his head slightly toward the door. "Marco! Entering."

The heavy oak door swung open wider, and two towering security enforcers stepped into the room, their suits fitted over heavy shoulder holsters.

"Take her to the lower vault," Luca commanded without looking back. "Lock her in until I decide whether to feed her to the federal prosecutors or handle her myself."

"You can't do this!" Vanessa screamed as Marco grabbed her roughly by the arms, dragging her toward the door as she thrashed and cursed. "You'll start a war, Luca! A war that will destroy everything you've built!"

The door slammed shut, cutting off her shrieks, leaving only the heavy silence of the bedroom behind.

Luca stood motionless for several long seconds, his chest rising and falling beneath his white shirt.

Then, slowly, he turned his dark eyes toward me.

I pressed myself against the wall, my heart pounding so hard I was certain he could hear it.

"Claire."

"Yes, Mr. Moretti?" I whispered.

"You saw everything."

"I... I only wanted to help Benjamin, sir."

Luca walked over to the dressing table, picked up a small silver pen, and tossed it onto the tray.

"You saved my son's life tonight," he said quietly, his voice losing its lethal edge, replaced by a strange, quiet vulnerability. "And in my world, a debt like that is never ignored."

He pulled a gold-plated checkbook from his inner pocket, scribbled something across a slip of paper, tore it out, and held it out toward me.

I looked down at the numbers written in heavy black ink.

It was enough to pay off my mother’s rent for the next twenty years, clear all our debts, and buy a house far away from New York.

"Take it," he said softly. "Pack your bags tonight. Tomorrow morning, my driver will take you and your mother wherever you want to go. Far away from here."

I stared at the check, then up into his dark, tired eyes.

"And Benjamin?" I asked.