THE MAID WHO SAVED THE MOB BOSS'S HEIR

The sound of the roaring engine shattered the tense silence of the dining room.

It wasn't just any car. I recognized the deep, guttural growl of the vintage Aston Martin that Luca kept perfectly polished in the west garage.

"Hannah," Luca's voice was a low, terrifying rumble as he locked his dark eyes on mine. "What did you see?"

My heart slammed against my ribs. Vanessa’s face had drained of all color, her manicured hands trembling against the edge of the mahogany table. She looked like a woman who had just realized the ice beneath her feet was cracking.

"Twenty minutes ago," I said, my voice remarkably steady despite the terror pooling in my stomach. "Vanessa excused herself to fix her makeup. I was in the upstairs hallway bringing extra blankets to Mrs. Moretti's room. I saw Vanessa carrying Sophie's pink suitcase down the servant's stairs toward the garage. And I saw the man waiting for her."

Luca didn't shout. He didn't have to. The pure, lethal energy radiating from him made the forty wealthy guests shrink back in their velvet chairs.

"Who?" Luca demanded.

"Victor," I breathed. "Your fiancée's brother."

Victor Bellini. A man whose gambling debts and reckless violence had caused Luca to banish him from the Moretti estate six months ago. Luca had explicitly ordered that Victor was never to be within a hundred yards of eight-year-old Sophie.

Luca moved with a terrifying, predatory speed. He didn't spare Vanessa a single glance as he bypassed the dining table, his black suit jacket flaring behind him. He threw open the French doors leading to the courtyard, the cold Chicago night air rushing into the stiflingly warm room.

I didn't think. I just moved. I let go of Teresa's wheelchair—making sure the brakes were locked—and ran after him, my sensible black work shoes slipping slightly on the polished marble. Behind me, I could hear Vanessa screaming his name, but her cries were drowned out by the squeal of tires.

We burst into the crisp night air just as the Aston Martin tore out of the garage. The headlights blinded us for a fraction of a second. The heavy iron gates of the estate were beginning to open, triggered by a remote.

Luca didn't hesitate. He sprinted across the gravel driveway, his long strides eating up the distance. He reached the gate's control panel and smashed his fist into the emergency override button. The heavy iron doors groaned and slammed shut, leaving a gap barely wide enough for a bicycle.

The Aston Martin screeched, the brakes locking up as the car skidded sideways on the gravel, stopping mere inches from the iron barricade.

Luca marched toward the driver's side. He didn't bother trying the handle. He wrapped his hand around his customized silver-plated pistol, drew it from his shoulder holster, and smashed the butt of the weapon directly through the driver's side window.

Glass shattered into a million glittering diamonds.

Luca reached in, grabbed Victor by the collar of his expensive designer shirt, and hauled him out through the broken window. He threw the younger man onto the sharp gravel.

"Where is she?" Luca roared, pressing the barrel of the gun against Victor's temple. "Where is my daughter?"

Victor, a sleazy, slick-haired man in his late twenties, held his hands up in a panic. Blood trickled down his cheek from the shattered glass. "I don't have her! I swear to God, Luca, I don't have her!"

I ran up behind Luca, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I looked into the backseat of the car.

It was empty.

My stomach plummeted. There was no little girl with dark, frightened eyes. But sitting perfectly upright on the plush leather seat was Sophie's pink suitcase.

"Open it," Luca commanded me, his eyes never leaving Victor's terrified face.

I reached through the broken window, unzipped the small suitcase, and threw the flap back.

It wasn't filled with Sophie's clothes. It was packed to the brim with tightly bound stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Hundreds of thousands of dollars.

"Victor," Luca's voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "I am going to ask you one last time before I blow your brains all over my driveway. Where is Sophie?"

Victor began to weep, his arrogance completely dissolving. "Vanessa paid me! She told me to take the money and drive! She said I was supposed to be a distraction so you'd chase me instead of looking inside!"

Luca froze. "Looking inside where?"

Victor pointed a shaking, blood-stained finger back toward the massive, sprawling mansion. "She didn't put Sophie in the car, Luca! She gave her to someone else!"

Before Luca could process the betrayal, a terrifying sound ripped through the quiet night.

The estate's fire alarms began to shriek, a deafening, piercing wail.

I whipped my head around. Thick, black smoke was billowing out of the third-floor windows of the east wing.

Sophie's bedroom.

"No," Luca breathed, the color completely draining from his face.

He dropped Victor in the gravel and sprinted back toward the burning mansion. I ran right beside him, my heart hammering a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs. The girl I had tucked into bed just two hours ago, who loved reading books about ocean animals and always asked me to leave the hallway light on, was trapped inside a burning room.

As we burst back through the courtyard doors, the guests were in a state of mass panic, shoving each other to get out.

But Vanessa wasn't running. She was standing perfectly still by the grand staircase, a cold, unreadable expression on her flawless face.