THE MAFIA BOSS, THE MAID, AND THE FIANCÉE’S HIDDEN FOLDER

Luca Moretti didn't move. The heavy mahogany clock in the corner of the study ticked off five agonizing seconds. He sat behind his massive desk, his dark eyes fixed on my bruised face, waiting for me to finish the sentence that would undoubtedly destroy his engagement.

"What else did you discover in that room, Olivia?"

I reached into the deep pocket of my uniform apron. My fingers were trembling so badly I could barely grip the smooth fabric. I pulled out a small, faded black velvet box and placed it gently on the polished wood, right next to the photograph of his former wife.

Luca stared at the box. He didn't touch it immediately.

"Vanessa left the guest room door cracked open when the investigator arrived," I explained, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was in the connecting linen closet. I couldn't leave without them seeing me. I heard Vanessa tell Mr. Mercer that she needed your former wife, Clara, to file a lawsuit against you before the wedding."

"A lawsuit for what?" Luca asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"For breaching the morality clause in your divorce settlement," I said. "Vanessa told him that if Clara believed you were having an affair five years ago, Clara could legally claim thirty percent of your legitimate shipping company. And once Clara filed the lawsuit, Vanessa's father was going to offer to buy those shares from Clara for pennies."

Luca’s jaw tightened. The pieces were clicking into place behind his cold, calculating eyes. Vanessa wasn't marrying him for love. She was orchestrating a hostile takeover of his clean assets from the inside, using his former wife as the weapon.

"That explains the photographs," Luca said flatly. "But what is in the box, Olivia?"

I swallowed hard. "When the investigator asked Vanessa how she planned to prove the affair happened five years ago, she gave him this box. She told him to mail it to Clara with a fake letter. I grabbed it off the vanity table when they walked out to the balcony."

Luca finally reached across the desk. He flipped the velvet lid open.

Inside lay a heavy, antique silver rosary. The beads were carved from dark obsidian, and the crucifix was slightly tarnished at the edges.

All the blood instantly drained from Luca’s face.

He didn't yell. He didn't throw the box. He simply stared at the rosary as if a ghost had just materialized in his study. His breathing stopped completely.

"Mr. Moretti?" I whispered, taking a half-step back. "Are you alright?"

"My mother bought this rosary in Palermo forty years ago," Luca said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "She gave it to my younger sister, Elena, on her wedding day."

I frowned, confusion cutting through my fear. "I didn't know you had a sister."

"I don't. Not anymore," Luca said, looking up at me with eyes so hollow they terrified me. "Elena died six years ago in a car accident on the Dan Ryan Expressway. And this rosary was clasped in her hands when we closed her casket."

A chill raced down my spine. The room suddenly felt freezing.

"If this was buried with your sister six years ago," I stammered, "how did Vanessa get it today?"

Luca slowly picked up the rosary. The silver chain wrapped around his knuckles. He looked at the cross, turning it over to reveal a small, jagged scratch on the back—proof that it wasn't a replica. It was the exact same rosary.

"That is exactly what we are going to find out," Luca said. He reached for the phone on his desk and pressed a single button. "Daniel. Get the car ready. We're leaving."

"Where are you going?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"We aren't going anywhere yet," Luca said, standing up. He buttoned his suit jacket, his presence filling the room with a sudden, suffocating intensity. "You are coming with me. You're the only one who can identify William Mercer's face if we find him."

"But my shift—"

"Your shift is over, Olivia. You work directly for me now."

He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from me. He looked down at my swollen, purple cheek. The anger that flashed in his eyes wasn't directed at me; it was a quiet, violent promise meant for the woman sleeping upstairs.

"Nobody touches my people," Luca whispered. "Nobody."

He led me out of the study and down the grand staircase. The engagement party had finally cleared out, leaving the mansion eerily quiet. Daniel, a massive man with a scarred jaw and a tailored suit, was waiting by the front doors.

"The car is ready, boss," Daniel said, glancing at my bruised face but saying nothing.

"Take us to William Mercer's registered office address," Luca ordered, stepping out into the cold Chicago night.

I slid into the backseat of the black SUV, pulling my thin coat tightly around my shoulders. Luca sat beside me in silence, the silver rosary gripped tightly in his fist.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a dilapidated brick building in an industrial sector of the city. The neon sign above the door flickered, casting a sickly green light across the wet pavement.

Daniel kicked the front door open. The lock splintered effortlessly.

We walked up a narrow, dimly lit staircase to the second floor. The door marked 'Mercer Investigations' was unlocked.

Luca pushed it open.

The office was completely trashed. File cabinets were overturned, papers covered the cheap carpet, and the desktop computer monitor was smashed into pieces.

Someone had beaten us here.

Daniel drew his weapon, sweeping the back room. "Clear. But the place was tossed recently. Coffee on the desk is still warm."

Luca walked over to the desk, his boots crunching over broken glass. He looked down at the mess, his expression grim.

Then I noticed something sticking out from underneath the overturned trash can.

"Mr. Moretti," I pointed.

Luca bent down and pulled the object free.

It was a heavy, men's wool coat. The fabric was torn at the shoulder, and there was a dark, wet stain spreading across the collar. Blood.

But that wasn't what made Luca freeze.

He reached into the pocket of the bloody coat and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He opened it under the flickering overhead light.

It was a flight itinerary.

Booked for tonight. Leaving O'Hare International Airport in two hours.

The passenger's name wasn't William Mercer.