THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS MAID—UNTIL HIS MOTHER EXPOSED HER DARKEST SECRET

“Step away from my mother, Marcus.”

Luca’s voice was deathly calm, but the air in the room felt like it had been sucked into a vacuum. He set Julian down behind him, shielding the boy with his body.

Marcus didn’t move. His hand remained firmly on his holster.

“It was supposed to be easy, boss,” Marcus said, his voice completely devoid of the warmth he usually showed the family. “Vanessa marries you, we secure the Moretti accounts, and we phase you out. But the old lady had to start remembering things. And this little maid couldn’t mind her own business.”

I backed away slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“You helped her,” Luca said, the betrayal cutting deeper than before. “You helped Arthur run Catherine off the road?”

“Arthur was an idiot,” Marcus scoffed. “He panicked when Catherine realized we had Julian. He drove the car off the bridge to save himself, but he was too stupid to wear his seatbelt. I was the one who pulled Catherine from the wreckage.”

Teresa gasped, clutching her chest. “You were there?”

Marcus smiled, a chilling, empty expression. “She was still breathing when I found her on the riverbank. She begged me to help her. She gave me the wooden bear to give to Julian.”

“And you let her die,” Luca whispered.

“I held her underwater until she stopped fighting,” Marcus corrected coldly.

Vanessa let out a sharp laugh from her chair. “He’s always been so efficient. Marcus and I have been partners for years, Luca. Long before I ever batted my eyelashes at you at that charity gala. We run a very lucrative operation. The Moretti empire is going to look great under our management.”

Luca didn’t scream. He didn’t lunge. He simply reached into his suit jacket.

But Marcus was faster. He unholstered his weapon and pointed it directly at Teresa’s head.

“Hands out of your pockets, boss,” Marcus warned. “Or your mother paints the wallpaper.”

Luca slowly raised his hands, keeping his body firmly between the gun and little Julian.

“What do you want, Marcus?” Luca asked.

“Vanessa’s right. Eliana isn’t dead,” Marcus said, glancing at Vanessa. “She’s been living quite comfortably at a private boarding school in upstate New York. Paid for by a shell corporation Vanessa set up. We kept her alive because we knew we’d need a biological Moretti heir to control the family trust if anything happened to Julian.”

“You were going to kill Julian tonight,” I realized aloud, looking at the boarding passes and the packed backpack.

Marcus shrugged. “He’s a smart kid. Asks too many questions. Eliana has never known a family; she’s much easier to manipulate.”

“Let them go, Marcus,” Luca commanded. “Take the money. Take Vanessa. But if you touch my family, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

“I’m not running, Luca,” Marcus smiled. “You are going to have a tragic accident tonight. A murder-suicide triggered by the grief of a canceled wedding. Vanessa survives as the grieving widow. It’s perfect.”

Marcus raised his weapon, aiming it squarely at Luca’s chest.

“Close your eyes, Julian,” Luca whispered to his son.

I couldn’t just watch him die. I thought of my mother. I thought of how Teresa had fought to stand up.

I reached out and grabbed the nearest thing on the dining table—a heavy crystal wine decanter.

With everything I had, I swung it as hard as I could at the back of Marcus’s head.

The crystal shattered against his skull with a sickening crunch.

Marcus groaned, stumbling forward. His gun went off, the bullet shattering the crystal chandelier above us. Glass rained down in a sparkling, terrifying shower.

Luca didn’t waste a millisecond. He lunged forward, grabbing Marcus by the throat and slamming him backward onto the dining table, shattering the remaining plates and glasses.

Vanessa screamed, scrambling out of her chair and sprinting toward the front doors.

“Hannah! Stop her!” Luca yelled, pinning a violently struggling Marcus to the table.

I didn’t think. I ran after Vanessa.

She reached the heavy front doors, her red dress torn, her heels slipping on the polished marble. She yanked the door open and ran out into the pouring Chicago rain.

I chased her down the sweeping driveway. The cold rain soaked through my uniform instantly.

“Vanessa, stop!” I yelled.

She reached her sleek black sports car parked near the gates, fumbling with her keys. She looked back at me, her makeup running down her face in dark streaks, making her look like a demon.

She finally got the door open and climbed inside.

But before she could start the engine, a dark SUV slammed through the wrought-iron security gates, fishtailing on the wet pavement and crashing violently into the side of Vanessa’s car, pinning the driver’s side door shut.

I stopped, breathing hard, shielding my eyes from the SUV’s blinding headlights.

The door of the SUV opened.

A man stepped out into the rain. He was older, leaning heavily on a cane, wearing a trench coat.

He walked over to Vanessa’s trapped car, tapped the glass with his silver-tipped cane, and looked back at me.