THE MAFIA’S HEIR AND THE SISTER’S SECRET

Panic, raw and blinding, exploded in my chest.

"Leo!" Luca shouted, already sprinting down the hall.

I dropped the coat, clutching the rosary and the SD card tightly in my fist, and ran after him. The alarm was deafening, a high-pitched shriek that echoed off the marble floors.

As we hit the grand staircase, I saw it. Thick, acrid black smoke was billowing down from the second-floor landing. This wasn't a kitchen mishap. This was a massive, rapidly spreading fire.

"The nursery is at the end of the hall!" Luca yelled over the alarm, taking the stairs three at a time.

I followed, coughing as the smoke hit my lungs. When we reached the second floor, the heat was instantly oppressive. Flames were licking up the flocked wallpaper near the guest suites, crawling aggressively toward the ceiling.

But the worst part was the nursery door.

The heavy oak door was shut, and thick smoke was aggressively pushing out from beneath the gap.

"Leo!" Luca screamed, grabbing the brass doorknob. He snatched his hand back instantly with a hiss of pain. The metal was scalding hot.

"It's locked from the inside!" Luca yelled, coughing violently. "The nanny—where the hell is the nanny?"

"She must have panicked and run!" I yelled back, pulling the hem of my apron up to cover my nose and mouth. "Or someone locked them in!"

Luca didn't waste another second. He backed up, ignoring the flames creeping dangerously close to his shoes, and threw his massive shoulder into the heavy oak door.

The wood groaned but held fast.

"Again!" I shouted.

He hit it again. And again. On the fourth brutal impact, the door frame splintered, and the door crashed open.

A wall of heat and smoke hit us like a physical blow. The nursery was a nightmare. The heavy velvet curtains were completely engulfed in flames, and the fire had spread to the rug.

But sitting in the center of the room, completely terrified but untouched by the fire, was Leo in his wooden crib. The nanny was nowhere to be seen.

Leo was screaming, his face red and streaked with tears, his little hands gripping the bars of the crib.

"Leo!" Luca roared, rushing into the flames.

He grabbed the heavy woolen blanket from the rocking chair, threw it over the baby, and scooped Leo into his arms. He shielded the child with his own body, spinning away from a falling beam of burning wood.

"Go, go, go!" Luca yelled, shoving me toward the hallway.

We scrambled out of the room just as the ceiling above the crib collapsed in a shower of sparks and ash. We hit the hallway, running blindly through the thick smoke toward the back servants' stairs, the only route not blocked by flames.

We burst through the exterior emergency doors, stumbling out into the freezing, rain-soaked night.

Luca dropped to his knees on the wet grass, coughing violently, ripping the blanket away to check his son. Leo was coughing but wailing loudly—a beautiful, healthy sound.

I collapsed beside them, my lungs burning, the rain soaking my thin waitress uniform. I was shivering violently, but I reached out, touching Leo’s back to make sure he was really okay.

Luca looked up at me, his face smeared with soot, his chest heaving. "Are you hurt?"

"No," I gasped. "I'm okay. You?"

"I'm fine," Luca said, pulling Leo tightly against his chest, burying his face in the baby’s hair.

As the sound of approaching fire engines pierced the night, the front doors of the mansion burst open.

A figure staggered out onto the driveway.

It was Silas.

He wasn't zip-tied anymore. His hands were free. And he was holding a heavy red gasoline canister.

Luca went perfectly still. He handed Leo to me without a word.

"Luca, no," I whispered, grabbing his sleeve. "The police are coming."

"He tried to burn my son alive," Luca said, his voice a terrifying, dead calm. He stood up, cracking his neck. He didn't pull a weapon. He didn't need one.

Silas saw us on the lawn and froze. He dropped the gas can. He reached to his waistband, but he had no gun—Luca had kicked it away in the living room earlier.

Silas turned to run toward the gate.

Luca crossed the lawn with terrifying speed. He tackled his uncle to the wet asphalt of the driveway. Silas shouted in pain as Luca hauled him up by the collar of his ruined suit and slammed him against the stone pillar of the gate.

"Who unlocked you?" Luca roared, pinning Silas by the throat. "Who let you out of the warehouse to set the fire?!"

Silas choked, a sick, bloody smile spreading across his face. "You really think... I work alone, Luca? You think... I have the brains for this?"

A cold dread washed over me. I stood up, clutching Leo to my chest, walking slowly toward them.

"It was her, wasn't it?" Luca demanded, his grip tightening. "Elena. She ordered the fire to destroy the evidence."

"Elena is a fool," Silas wheezed. "She only cares about pride. She wanted Maya gone because of bloodlines. But I wanted Maya gone because she found the ledger. She found out who the real boss of Philadelphia is."

Silas coughed, laughing a wet, ugly laugh.

"It's not you, Luca," Silas whispered. "And it's not Elena."

Suddenly, the screech of tires echoed down the street. A black, armored SUV smashed through the front gates, fishtailing wildly on the wet grass before slamming to a halt ten yards from us.

The back door swung open.

Stepping out into the rain, holding a massive black umbrella and flanked by four heavily armed men, was a man I recognized instantly.

It was Greg. My manager from the restaurant.

Only he wasn't wearing his cheap polyester suit. He was wearing an immaculate, tailored cashmere overcoat. And the men pointing automatic rifles at us were taking orders directly from him.