Everyone Laughed When He Invited His Secretary to Dinner—Until She Arrived Looking Unforgettable Cruelty was a currency in Larkin Steves's world, and he spent it freely. When he invited his aggressively mousy secretary to the bloodiest, highest-stakes gala of the underground year, it was supposed to be a punchline, a bet, a way to watch the invisible girl stutter and break. He expected a poorly fitted cardigan and a panic attack. Instead, she walked through those brass doors looking like a war he was destined to lose, and the punchline died in his throat. The Steves Syndicate did not operate out of a smoke-filled back

Luca stared at Emma.

For the first time in ten years, the head of the Chicago syndicate was completely blindsided.

“Say that again,” Luca commanded.

Emma leaned heavily against the dresser. Her legs were trembling. “The safe,” she breathed out. “They opened it to put something inside. Not to steal.”

Luca looked at the silver rosary in her trembling left hand.

“Where did you get that?”

“Vanessa dropped it,” Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper. “When we were in the hallway. She was rushing. It fell from her clutch, and she didn’t notice. I picked it up before I ran back to the pantry.”

Luca took the rosary from her hand. The silver felt cold against his skin. His mother had held this on her deathbed. Only he and his father knew the combination to the safe where it was kept.

Which meant his father had opened the safe for Vanessa.

“You said they needed your blood,” Luca said, his eyes locking onto her bandaged hand. “Explain.”

Emma closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek.

“When they dragged me into the pantry, your father grabbed my arm. He held me against the wall.” She took a shaky breath. “Vanessa pulled something out of her coat.”

Luca’s jaw clenched. “What was it?”

“A knife,” Emma whispered. “A hunting knife. Heavy. With a bone handle.”

Luca recognized the description instantly.

It was his own hunting knife. He kept it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

“She didn’t just cut me, Mr. Moretti.” Emma’s voice broke. “She wrapped my hand around the handle. She forced my fingers tight around the grip. And then she pulled the blade straight across my palm.”

Luca felt a cold fury settle in his chest.

That was why the cut was so clean. So straight.

It wasn’t a slash. It was a deliberate, forced pull.

“They wanted my fingerprints on the handle,” Emma sobbed softly. “And my blood on the blade.”

Luca’s mind raced, putting the horrifying pieces together.

If they had his knife, covered in Emma’s fingerprints and Emma’s blood, and they put it inside his private wall safe…

“They’re framing you,” Luca said quietly.

Emma nodded, hugging her arms around herself.

“For what?” Luca asked.

Emma looked up at him. Her eyes were hollow with absolute terror.

“For what happens tonight.”

The room went dead silent.

“What happens tonight, Emma?”

She looked at the door, as if expecting the wood to splinter open at any second.

“Vanessa told your father the timeline,” Emma whispered. “She said, ‘As soon as the guests leave, we do it. And when the police search the house, they’ll find the maid’s blood on the murder weapon in his safe. She’ll take the fall for everything.’”

Luca didn’t move.

“Who are they killing, Emma?”

Emma let out a ragged sob.

“You.”

Luca stared at her. The words hung in the air, chilling the small bedroom.

His own father. His own fiancée. Planning to murder him tonight and frame a twenty-seven-year-old housemaid.

It made sickening sense. If Luca died, his father—as the former boss—would temporarily step back into power. Vanessa, as the grieving fiancée, would inherit Luca’s legitimate estates. They would share the empire.

And Emma would rot in prison for the assassination.

Luca looked at the duffel bag on the bed.

“That’s why you were running,” he said.

“I had to,” she cried. “If I stay here, I’m dead. If I go to the police, your father’s men in the precinct will bury me before I ever see a courtroom. I had to disappear.”

Luca looked down at the floor.

Near his heavy leather shoe lay the small frame Emma had knocked over when he walked in.

He bent down and picked it up.

It was a crayon drawing. A child’s drawing. A stick figure of a woman with brown hair holding hands with a little girl. At the top, in clumsy, oversized letters, it read: I LOVE YOU AUNTIE EMMA.

Luca looked at the drawing, then at Emma.

“Who is this?”

Emma lunged forward, grabbing the frame with her good hand. She pulled it to her chest as if shielding a real child from a bullet.

“Don’t,” she begged. “Please, Mr. Moretti. Leave her out of this.”

“Who is it?” he repeated, softer this time.

“My niece,” she whispered. “Lily.”

“Where is she?”

Emma shook her head frantically. “She’s safe. She’s at a boarding school in Vermont. That’s why I need this job. It pays for her tuition. My sister passed away. Lily is all I have.”

Luca stared at the panic in her eyes.

A new piece of the puzzle snapped into place. An ugly, jagged piece.

“They didn’t just grab you by random chance, did they?” Luca asked slowly.

Emma froze.

“There are twenty maids in this house,” Luca said. “Why did Vanessa choose you?”

Emma looked down at the drawing. Her tears dripped onto the glass frame.

“Because Vanessa found out about Lily,” she confessed, her voice shattering. “She came into my room two days ago. She saw the drawing. She told me…”

“What did she tell you, Emma?”

“She told me that if I ever breathed a word about what I saw them doing, her men would visit Lily’s school before morning.”

Luca felt a lethal, icy calm wash over his entire body.

He didn’t just want to cancel the wedding anymore. He wanted to burn the Bellini family to the ground.

He turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Emma panicked, stepping forward.

“To my office,” Luca said. “To open that safe.”

“No! They’ll know! Your father is still downstairs!”

“Exactly,” Luca said, opening the door. “Pack your bag, Emma. But you’re not leaving. You’re coming with me.”

He stepped out into the hallway.

Emma hesitated, then grabbed her duffel bag with her left hand and followed him.

They moved quickly through the shadows of the third floor, down the back stairwell, avoiding the main halls where the distant sound of jazz music and clinking glasses still echoed from the engagement party.

They reached the second floor. The private wing.

Luca keyed his code into the heavy oak door of his study. It clicked open.

The room was dark, smelling of leather, expensive scotch, and cigar smoke.

Luca walked straight to the large oil painting behind his mahogany desk. He swung the frame open, revealing the steel keypad of the wall safe.

He punched in the six-digit code.

The heavy steel bolts slid back with a heavy clunk.

Luca pulled the door open.

Emma stood nervously by the doorway, gripping her bag.

Luca reached inside the safe.

His hand brushed against the cold steel of his hunting knife. He pulled it out.

Even in the dim light, he could see the dark, wet smear of blood along the silver blade. Emma’s blood.

He set it carefully on the desk.