THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE TOLD ME TO REMOVE A CHIPPED PORCELAIN PLATE FROM HIS ENGAGEMENT TABLE—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI SAW IT IN MY HANDS, HE STOOD UP AND ASKED, “WHO TOOK MY MOTHER’S PLACE SETTING?”

Teresa gripped the banister, her knuckles white.

The regal, calculating matriarch was crumbling before our eyes. "It's a forgery!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "She was delirious at the end! The poison—"

She stopped. She had just confessed.

Luca didn't blink. "You murdered my mother."

"I did what had to be done!" Teresa shrieked. "She was weak! She wanted to legitimize the family, to turn us into businessmen! I preserved our power!"

Luca slowly walked up the first three steps of the grand staircase. "And my brother? Did you preserve power when Matteo died, too?"

Teresa sneered, abandoning all pretense. "Matteo was a fool. He fell in love with a gold-digger. He wanted to leave the life. I couldn't allow a Moretti to walk away."

Vanessa let out a guttural sob from the foyer. "You killed him. You killed the father of my child."

"I cleaned up a mess," Teresa spat.

Luca reached the landing. He stood inches from the woman who had terrorized his family for decades.

"You're done, Teresa."

"You won't shoot me," she mocked, though her eyes betrayed her fear. "I'm an old woman. The syndicate won't respect a boss who guns down his elderly aunt."

"You're right," Luca said softly. "I won't shoot you."

He lowered his weapon. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The screen was illuminated. He had been on an active call for the last ten minutes.

"Did you hear all that, Don Rossi?" Luca asked into the phone.

A gravelly voice came through the speaker. "Loud and clear, Luca. The Russian commission has also been listening. We do not appreciate being used as pawns in a domestic dispute by an old crone."

Teresa dropped her cane. It clattered down the marble steps. "No," she whispered.

"The commission has voted, Teresa," the voice on the phone continued. "You are excommunicated. You have no protection. No assets. You are a ghost."

Luca hung up the phone. He looked at his aunt. "Pack a bag. You have one hour before my men escort you to a plane. You're going to a very quiet, very isolated convent in Sicily. If you ever try to contact anyone in Chicago again, you won't live to see the sunset."

Teresa stared at him, stripped of everything she valued. She turned and slowly walked down the hallway, looking every bit of her eighty-two years.

Luca descended the stairs. He walked over to Vanessa.

He pulled a pocket knife and cut the zip-ties binding her wrists.

"Luca, thank you," Vanessa cried, rubbing her bruised arms. "I'm so sorry. I'll make it right. We can raise Leo together."

"No," Luca said. His voice was firm. "You sold my nephew to clear your gambling debts. You are no mother to him."

Vanessa’s face crumpled. "You can't take him from me!"

"I already have," Luca said. "I am setting up a trust for you. Ten thousand dollars a month. Enough to live comfortably, but not enough to gamble. You will move to Florida. You will never see Leo again. If you try, the trust disappears, and I let the Russians collect what you owe them."

Vanessa looked at the cold, immovable reality in Luca's eyes. She knew she had lost. She nodded slowly, tears streaming down her face, and walked out the front door into the night.

The grand foyer was finally quiet.

Luca turned to me and my father. My dad was sitting on a marble bench, exhausted but safe, holding little Leo on his lap.

"Emma," Luca said, walking toward me.