GET THAT WOMAN OUT OF HERE! SHE'S NOT FAMILY, AND IF YOU LET HER NEAR MY TABLE AGAIN, YOU'RE FIRED!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS

I stood frozen in the dim light of the basement, the silver pocket watch heavy in my palm.

I ran to the heavy wooden door and rattled the brass knob. It was locked tight.

“Luca!” I shouted, pounding my fists against the thick oak. “Luca, the door blew shut! I’m locked in!”

Silence.

The basement walls were thick, designed to muffle sound. I pressed my ear against the wood, listening for footsteps.

Instead of footsteps, I heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy deadbolt sliding into place.

Someone hadn't just closed the door. They had deliberately trapped me.

Panic flared in my chest. I backed away from the door, my eyes scanning the shadows of the storage room. The only light came from a single bulb dangling from the ceiling.

I looked down at the silver pocket watch in my hand.

The Russian Bratva crest. The photograph of a teenage Luca smiling with a tattooed man.

The Bratva was the only syndicate more ruthless than the Morettis. Ten years ago, they had supposedly been driven out of Chicago by Luca’s father. But this photograph… it looked like Luca had been friends with them.

“Looking for ghosts, Hannah?” a voice echoed from the far corner of the basement.

I gasped, spinning around.

Stepping out from behind a stack of wooden crates was a man.

He was tall, dressed in a black mechanic’s uniform. He held a long, silenced pistol in his right hand.

But it was his neck that made my blood run cold.

A dark, jagged spiderweb tattoo climbed from his collarbone to his jawline.

It was the man from the photograph. He looked older, his face weathered and scarred, but it was unmistakably him.

“Who are you?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I slowly backed toward the stairs.

“My name is Nikolai,” the man said smoothly, his heavy Russian accent curling around the syllables. “I am an old friend of your fiancé.”

“Luca doesn't have friends in the Bratva,” I said.

Nikolai laughed softly. “Oh, little bird. You know nothing about the man you share a bed with. Luca didn't drive us out of Chicago ten years ago. He made a deal with us.”

He took a slow step toward me, raising the pistol slightly.

“What deal?” I asked, my back hitting the cold stone wall of the stairwell.

“We helped him wipe out the Romano family,” Nikolai smiled. “Your family, Hannah. We provided the weapons. We provided the intelligence. And in exchange, Luca promised us complete control of the docks.”

My heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Luca had helped destroy my family? The man who had just promised to build a charity with me?

“You’re lying,” I choked out, tears stinging my eyes. “Luca protected me. He loves me.”

“He loves the fact that you are the last Romano,” Nikolai corrected. “With you by his side, he officially owns the entire city. It was a brilliant move. But Luca made one fatal mistake.”

Nikolai pointed the gun directly at my chest.

“He stopped paying us our cut last month when he went ‘legitimate’.”

Nikolai cocked the hammer.

“And the Bratva does not forgive debts.”

I closed my eyes, bracing for the gunshot. I thought of Lily upstairs, happily getting ready for the park. I thought of my mother, finally safe in her condo. I had given them a happy ending, even if mine was about to end in the dark.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the basement.

The heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs was blown completely off its hinges, crashing down the steps and splintering into pieces.

Smoke and dust filled the stairwell.

Through the haze, a figure stepped into the doorway.

It was Luca.

He held a tactical shotgun, his face a mask of absolute, terrifying fury.

He didn't hesitate. He pumped the shotgun and fired directly at Nikolai.

The blast caught the Russian in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending his pistol clattering across the concrete floor. Nikolai hit the ground hard, groaning in pain.

Luca flew down the stairs, tossing the shotgun aside and dropping his weight onto Nikolai’s chest. He pulled a combat knife from his belt and pressed the blade hard against the Russian’s tattooed throat.

“You come into my house?” Luca roared, his eyes wild. “You touch my family?!”

“Luca, stop!” I screamed, running forward and grabbing his arm. “Don't kill him!”

Luca froze. He looked up at me, his chest heaving, the blade drawing a thin line of blood on Nikolai’s neck.

“He told me everything, Luca,” I cried, holding up the silver pocket watch. “He told me about the deal. Did you help them kill my family? Did you know who I was this whole time?”

Luca looked at the watch in my hand. The rage in his eyes instantly dissolved into absolute devastation.

He slowly lowered the knife. He stood up, stepping away from the bleeding Russian.

Luca looked at me, his dark eyes filled with tears.

“I didn't help them kill your family, Hannah,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking. “I made the deal with the Bratva to stop them.”

I stared at him, confused. “Stop them?”

“Ten years ago, my father ordered the hit on the Romanos,” Luca said, taking a slow step toward me. “I was just a kid. I couldn't stop my father. But I knew Nikolai’s father. I traded the docks to the Bratva in exchange for them smuggling one person out of the city before my father’s men could find her.”

Luca pointed a trembling finger at me.