**MY DAUGHTER TURNED SEVEN TODAY.s I COULDN'T AFFORD A BIRTHDAY CAKE, SO I SAVED HER ONE SLICE FROM THE MAFIA BOSS'S ENGAGEMENT DINNER. HIS FIANCÉE OPENED MY LUNCHBOX IN FRONT OF THIRTY GUESTS AND CALLED ME A THIEF—BUT WHEN LUCA SAW SEVEN LITTLE CANDLES WRAPPED IN A NAPKIN, HE SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS GLASS.**

The silence in the apartment was suddenly heavier than the ringing left by the gunshots.

Luca stood by the door, pointing at the faded photograph on the linoleum floor.

“Why do you have a picture of my brother?”

I stared at the picture. Then, I stared at him.

My heart, still racing from the shootout, seemed to stop completely.

“Your brother?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “That’s... that’s impossible.”

Luca knelt down and picked up the photograph. His dark eyes scanned the image, his thumb tracing the face of the man standing beside me.

The man who had left me four years ago.

“His name was Matteo,” Luca said, his voice thick with a grief that hadn’t healed. “He died in a car accident five years ago.”

I shook my head slowly, stepping backward until my shoulders hit the hallway wall.

“No,” I said, clutching Lily tighter to my chest. “His name was Mark. Mark Davies. We were together for four years. He’s Lily’s father.”

Luca went completely still.

He looked at the little girl in my arms. Lily was burying her face in my neck, but her hazel eyes—the exact same shape and color as the man in the photograph—were peeking out.

“Lily’s father,” Luca repeated, the words barely escaping his lips.

He looked from Lily to the photograph, and then back to me. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He staggered back a half-step, resting his hand against the wall for support.

“He told me he was a traveling salesman,” I sobbed, the tears returning as the lies of my past crashed into the nightmare of my present. “He said his family died when he was young. He left us when Lily was three. He just vanished. The police told me he probably ran off to avoid child support.”

“He didn’t run off, Claire,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “He was murdered.”

I felt the air leave my lungs.

“Murdered?” I choked out.

Luca closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a massive headache.

“Matteo wasn’t a salesman,” Luca explained, his voice low and painful. “He was the Underboss of the Syndicate. But he wanted out. He told my father he wanted a normal life. My father refused. A week later, Matteo’s car was run off a cliff outside the city. It exploded on impact.”

I stared at the Don of the Chicago Syndicate. The man I had scrubbed floors for.

He was my daughter’s uncle.

“You’re telling me,” I whispered, my voice shaking violently, “that the man I loved... the man I had a child with... was a mafia prince?”

Luca nodded slowly. “And he hid you from us to protect you.”

He looked at Lily again, this time with a staggering, overwhelming awe.

“She’s a Moretti,” Luca breathed. “My brother had a daughter.”

Before I could process the magnitude of his words, the screeching of tires echoed from the street below.

Luca snapped back into focus. He moved to the window, peeking through a hole in the shattered glass.

“Marco’s here,” Luca said. “We have to go.”

He turned to me, his eyes burning with a fierce, absolute determination.

“Claire, listen to me,” Luca commanded softly. “If the Volkovs find out who Lily really is, they won’t just use her for leverage. They’ll kill her to end the Moretti bloodline. You are coming to the estate, and you are not leaving my sight until Victor Volkov is dead.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t have a choice. I grabbed my daughter’s small backpack, stuffed her few clothes inside, and followed the mafia boss out of the apartment I would never see again.

An hour later, we were standing in the grand foyer of the Moretti estate.

The mansion, which had always felt like a cold, intimidating workplace to me, now felt like a fortress. Heavily armed guards patrolled the perimeter. The heavy iron gates were locked tight.

Marco, the dining manager who had saved our lives with a cake, met us at the door.

“Boss, the guest wing is secure,” Marco said, nodding to me. “I’m glad you’re safe, Claire.”

“Thank you, Marco,” I whispered.

Luca handed his coat to a maid—a girl I usually worked alongside. She looked at me in complete shock as I stood next to the Don, holding a sleeping child.

“Put them in the master suite,” Luca ordered.

Marco blinked in surprise. “Boss? Your suite?”

“It’s the most secure room in the house,” Luca stated firmly. “Do it.”

Marco nodded and led me upstairs.

The master suite was massive. A king-sized bed, dark mahogany furniture, and thick velvet curtains. I gently laid Lily on the bed, pulling the heavy comforter over her. She was exhausted, the terror of the night finally pulling her into a deep sleep.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, completely numb.

My entire life was a lie.

Mark wasn’t Mark. He was Matteo Moretti. The man who had kissed my forehead, who had held Lily when she was born, who had promised me forever, had died in a burning car while I was waiting for him to come home for dinner.

The bedroom door clicked open.

Luca walked in. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie. He looked exhausted, but his dark eyes were intensely focused.

He held two glasses of amber liquid. He handed one to me.

“Drink,” he said gently. “It helps with the shock.”

I took a sip. The whiskey burned my throat, but it grounded me.

Luca sat in the armchair opposite the bed, watching his sleeping niece.

“I loved him,” I whispered, staring into the glass. “He was so gentle. He never raised his voice. He used to sing to her.”

“He was the best of us,” Luca agreed softly. “He always hated the violence. I should have protected him.”

“You didn’t know,” I said.

Luca leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Claire,” he said, his tone shifting into something far more serious. “There is something about Matteo’s death that I never told anyone.”

I looked up at him. “What is it?”

Luca stared at the floor.

“The police found the wreckage of the car,” Luca explained, his voice tight. “They found a body burned beyond recognition. But they also found a briefcase in the trunk. Inside was three million dollars in untraceable cash.”

I frowned. “Why would he have that much money?”

“Because he was buying his freedom,” Luca said, looking directly into my eyes. “He didn’t tell my father he wanted out. He made a deal with Victor Volkov. Matteo was going to pay the Russians to smuggle him, you, and Lily out of the country.”

My breath caught. “The Russians?”

Luca nodded. “But the Volkovs betrayed him. They took the money, ran his car off the cliff, and kept the cash. Victor Volkov used my brother’s money to build his empire.”

I felt physically sick. The men who had tried to kill me tonight were the same men who had murdered the father of my child.

“Why didn’t you go to war with them five years ago?” I asked, tears returning.

“Because my father was still Don,” Luca said bitterly. “He believed Matteo betrayed the family by trying to run. He refused to avenge a traitor.”

Luca stood up, walking toward the window.

“But my father is dead now,” Luca whispered. “And I am Don.”

He turned back to me, the ruthless mafia boss fully returning to his eyes.

“I’m going to kill Victor Volkov, Claire. For Matteo. And for what they tried to do to you tonight.”

Before I could answer, a loud, frantic knocking echoed from the bedroom door.

Marco burst in without waiting for permission. His face was completely pale.

“Boss,” Marco gasped, out of breath.

“What is it?” Luca demanded.

Marco looked at me, then at Lily, and finally back at Luca.