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

The SUV tore through the streets of Chicago, blowing past red lights as Marco pushed the heavy engine to its limit.

In the backseat, the silence was suffocating.

Emma stared blindly out the window. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow jerks.

Finish the bloodline.

Lily. Her sweet, quiet, five-year-old Lily, who loved drawing stick figures and always asked for an extra bedtime story. The last true Romano in the world besides Emma.

“How long until the plane gets to Vermont?” Emma asked. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It sounded hollowed out.

Luca checked his watch. “My men will be in the air in ten minutes. Flight time is under two hours. They’ll beat anyone flying commercial.”

“But what if she has people there already?” Emma choked out, panic finally clawing up her throat. “What if the Falcones have soldiers in Burlington right now?”

Luca didn’t offer empty reassurances. He pulled out his phone.

“Marco. Get the headmaster of St. Jude’s on the line. Wake him up if you have to. Tell him to lock the campus down. No one goes in, no one comes out until my men arrive.”

“On it, boss.”

Luca turned to Emma. “Tell me about the letter.”

Emma blinked, pulling her attention away from the nightmare of Lily in danger. “The letter?”

“The one your mother left you,” Luca said. “You said it had the Falcone crest on the seal. What exactly did it say?”

Emma closed her eyes, visualizing the faded parchment she had memorized years ago.

“It said that our real name was Romano. It said my father was a powerful man who made powerful enemies. She told me to never search for our past, because the people who took our family would come for me and Lily.”

“Did she tell you who hid you?” Luca asked. “The Falcones wiped out your entire compound twenty years ago. How did a seven-year-old girl and her mother escape?”

Emma frowned, opening her eyes. “She didn’t say. She only said that a man in a dark coat pulled us out of the fire. He gave us new names and told us to run.”

Luca went completely still.

A man in a dark coat.

He looked out the front windshield as the massive iron gates of the Moretti estate came back into view.

“Emma,” Luca said quietly. “When you applied for the housekeeping job here… did you pick this house randomly?”

“Yes,” she said. “I saw an ad in the paper. The pay was high enough to cover St. Jude’s tuition. Why?”

“Because,” Luca said, his voice tightening, “the Moretti family does not put ads in the paper for domestic staff. Every maid, driver, and cook in my house is hand-picked through private, syndicate-approved agencies.”

Emma stared at him. “But… I called the number in the ad. A man interviewed me over the phone. He hired me the next day.”

“Who was the man?”

“He said his name was Mr. Thomas.”

Luca let out a harsh, bitter exhale. “Thomas is my father’s middle name.”

The SUV screeched to a halt at the front steps of the estate.

“My father brought you here on purpose,” Luca said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “He didn’t just hire a random girl to frame. He knew exactly who you were three years ago.”

They stepped out into the freezing night. The engagement guests were completely gone. The driveway was empty except for a few security guards patrolling the perimeter.

Luca and Emma walked quickly into the grand foyer.

The house was eerily quiet. The debris of a celebration—half-empty champagne flutes, discarded napkins, wilting centerpieces—littered the halls.

“Where is he?” Luca asked a guard standing by the staircase.

“Mr. Moretti Senior is in his private study, sir. He asked not to be disturbed.”

“Did he?” Luca muttered. He drew his weapon and kept it down by his side.

He looked at Emma. “Stay behind me.”

They walked down the east wing corridor to the elder Moretti’s study. Luca didn’t knock. He turned the heavy brass handle and shoved the door open.

His father, Vincent Moretti, was sitting behind a massive oak desk. He looked up, unsurprised.

He was wearing the same dark coat he had worn in the security footage.

“Luca,” Vincent said calmly. He looked past him to Emma. “And Miss Reed. I was wondering where you ran off to.”

Luca raised his gun, aiming it directly at his father’s chest.

“Where is Vanessa?” Luca demanded.

Vincent didn’t flinch at the sight of the weapon. He slowly reached for a crystal decanter of scotch and poured himself a glass.

“I don’t know,” Vincent said. “She left through the kitchen thirty minutes ago. She took my car.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Luca snarled. “I know she works for the Falcones. I know she played you. And I know you planned to kill me tonight and frame Emma.”

Vincent stopped pouring. He set the heavy crystal decanter down.

He looked at his son. Then, he looked at Emma’s blood-soaked, bandaged hand.

“I didn’t cut her hand, Luca,” Vincent said quietly.

“I saw the footage,” Luca fired back. “You dragged her into the pantry. You held her against the wall.”

“I pulled her into the pantry to get her out of the cameras!” Vincent suddenly snapped, his composure breaking. He stood up, planting his hands on the desk. “Vanessa was going to slit her throat right there in the kitchen!”

Emma gasped, stepping back into the doorframe.

Luca’s gun didn’t waver. “Why?”

“Because Vanessa found out I was protecting her,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a ragged, exhausted rasp.

Vincent reached into his coat pocket. Luca tensed, but his father only pulled out a worn, leather-bound notebook. He tossed it onto the desk.

“Twenty years ago,” Vincent said, staring at Emma, “the Falcones asked me to help them wipe out the Romanos. I refused. I told them I wouldn’t participate in slaughtering children.”

Vincent looked back at Luca.

“But I was there the night it happened. I arrived too late to stop it. The house was burning. But I found the mother. And the little girl.”

Vincent looked at Emma. His eyes were heavy with twenty years of guilt.

“I pulled you out of the fire, Emmaline. I gave your mother the money and the fake names. I told her to run.”

Emma shook her head, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Then why did you bring me here? Why did you make me a maid in your house?”

“Because the Falcones never stopped looking for you,” Vincent said. “Three years ago, they found your mother’s obituary. They knew you were alive. The only way I could protect you was to hide you in the one place they couldn’t touch—under the roof of the Moretti boss.”

Luca lowered his gun a fraction of an inch.

“Vanessa wasn’t my pawn, Luca,” Vincent admitted, looking sick. “She was my handler. The Falcones planted her here to spy on us. When she figured out who Emma was, she blackmailed me. She said if I didn’t help her kill you, she would slaughter Emma and the little girl in Vermont.”

Vincent collapsed back into his leather chair.

“She forced me to hold Emma in the pantry,” Vincent whispered. “She forced me to put the bloody knife in the safe. She wanted you dead, and she wanted the Romano heir executed for it.”

Emma let out a broken sob. The man she thought was a monster was the same man who had saved her life twenty years ago.

Luca lowered his weapon completely.

But before anyone could speak, the landline phone on Vincent’s desk began to ring.

It was a piercing, shrill sound in the quiet room.

Vincent looked at the caller ID. The color completely drained from his face.

He looked up at Luca.

“It’s Vanessa.”

Luca walked to the desk and hit the speaker button.

“Vanessa,” Luca said coldly.

“Hello, darling,” Vanessa’s smooth, poisonous voice echoed through the room. “I suppose your father has confessed everything by now?”

“My men are already in the air to Vermont,” Luca said, his voice like grinding stone. “If you touch a hair on that child’s head, I will rip you apart piece by piece.”

Vanessa laughed. A soft, chilling sound.

“Oh, Luca. Always so dramatic.”

A pause. Then, a new sound came through the speaker.

A small, terrified whimper.

Emma screamed, surging forward to grab the phone, but Luca caught her by the waist, holding her back.

“Mommy?” a tiny, frightened voice called out.

“Lily!” Emma shrieked, fighting against Luca’s grip. “Lily, I’m here!”

“Your men are too late, Luca,” Vanessa purred over the line. “I didn’t fly to Vermont. I had my people pick the brat up this afternoon.”