MY EX-HUSBAND PULLED MY CHAIR AWAY AT THE MAFIA BOSS’S DINNER AND TOLD EVERYONE I WAS “MENTALLY UNSTABLE”—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI ASKED HIS MOTHER ONE QUESTION, MY EX STOPPED SMILING.

The New York Dons know you have the ledger, Luca. They are coming for the girl to tie up loose ends. See you in hell. - Daniel.

I stared at the cracked wooden music box resting in Marcus’s massive hands, the tinny, broken melody plinking out a haunting tune. My mother had played that song for me every night before she kissed me to sleep. Now, it was a death warrant.

Daniel had delivered one final, devastating strike from the grave of his own ruin. Out of pure spite, to ensure if he couldn't have me, no one could, he had pointed the most powerful crime syndicate in the country directly at my head.

“He gave them my name,” I whispered, the reality suffocating me. “The New York Dons don’t care that Vane was stealing from them. They only care that a civilian has proof of their operations. They’ll kill me just to bury the ledger.”

Luca stood up from the sofa. The vulnerability that had broken him moments ago vanished, replaced instantly by the terrifying, cold calculation of a mafia boss facing a war.

“Marcus,” Luca ordered, his voice echoing sharply in the parlor. “Activate the vault. Lock down the perimeter. Call the capos. Every man we have on the payroll reports to the estate in ten minutes, heavily armed.”

“Boss,” Marcus hesitated, glancing nervously at me. “If the New York Dons send a hit squad, it’s not going to be street thugs. It’ll be the professionals. If we go to war with New York, the Moretti family will bleed.”

“Let it bleed,” Luca snarled, grabbing his assault rifle from the table. “I lost Elena because my father was a coward. I am not my father. Nobody crosses my gates tonight. Nobody.”

“Luca, stop!” I shouted, stepping between him and the door.

He froze, looking down at me, his chest heaving. “Claire, move. I have to secure the perimeter.”

“You can’t do this,” I pleaded, grabbing his forearms. His muscles were corded tightly with tension. “If you fight New York, dozens of your men will die. The war will never end. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. I won't let you tear your family apart for me.”

“You are my family!” Luca roared, the raw emotion in his voice vibrating through my bones. He dropped the rifle, framing my face with his large, warm hands. “I don't care about the territory. I don't care about the money. The only thing in this godforsaken world that matters to me is you breathing tomorrow morning.”

I looked into his eyes and saw the terrified eighteen-year-old boy who had pulled my mother from a burning car. He had spent his entire life trying to atone for a sin he didn't commit, carrying the guilt of a broken promise.

I couldn't let him die for me too.

“There is another way,” I said quietly, a sudden, desperate plan forming in my mind.

I turned to Marcus. “Where is the original Rossi ledger? The one Chloe gave me?”

“It’s locked in the basement vault,” Marcus answered, confused. “Why?”

“Bring it to me,” I ordered. My voice didn't shake. I didn't sound like a maid. I sounded like Teresa Moretti.

Marcus looked at Luca for permission. Luca hesitated, then gave a curt nod.

Minutes later, Marcus returned with the heavy black book.

I placed it on the coffee table next to the broken music box. I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

“The New York Dons want to bury the truth,” I said, looking at Luca. “If you fight them, they’ll just keep sending men until we’re all dead. We don't need a war, Luca. We need leverage.”

Luca frowned, crossing his arms. “Claire, you can't reason with these people. They don't negotiate with civilians.”

“I’m not going to negotiate as a civilian,” I said, picking up the locket from the sofa and clasping it tightly around my neck. The cool gold settled against my collarbone, a physical reminder of my mother’s strength and my sister’s sacrifice.

“Marcus,” I commanded, my eyes locking onto the head of security. “Do you have a secure satellite phone? One that can dial direct to the Rossi Dons in New York without being traced?”

Marcus blinked in surprise. “Yes. We have emergency backchannels.”

“Dial it,” I said.

“Claire, no!” Luca stepped forward, grabbing my wrist. “If they hear your voice, if they know you have the book, they will hunt you forever!”

“They are already hunting me, Luca!” I fired back, pulling my wrist free but catching his hand and holding it tight. “My mother died hiding. Chloe died fighting in the shadows. I am done hiding. I am going to end this tonight.”

Marcus dialed the number on a heavy, black satellite phone and placed it on speaker on the coffee table.

It rang twice.

Then, a raspy, ancient voice echoed through the speaker. It sounded like gravel grinding against glass.

“This is a restricted channel,” the voice hissed. “Speak quickly.”

“My name is Claire Bennett,” I said clearly into the phone. “Daughter of Elena. Sister of Chloe. And the woman holding Carlo Vane’s original, unredacted ledger.”

A heavy silence fell over the line.

“You have five seconds to explain why you aren't dead,” the Don finally replied.

“Because I’m standing in Luca Moretti’s parlor, surrounded by fifty armed men,” I lied smoothly. “And because I have a proposition for you. A trade.”

“We don't trade with dead girls,” the Don threatened.

“You’ll trade with me,” I shot back, leaning closer to the phone. “Because if your hit squad steps one foot onto Moretti property tonight, I have an automated email scheduled to send high-resolution photos of every page in this ledger to the FBI, the IRS, and the Chicago Tribune.”

Luca stared at me, awe replacing the fear in his eyes.

“What do you want?” the Don growled, realizing he was cornered.

“I want peace,” I demanded. “You call off the hit. You erase Daniel Bennett’s debt, because you’re going to collect it in blood from Carlo Vane anyway. You leave the Moretti family alone, and you wipe my name from your radar permanently.”

“And in exchange?”

“In exchange,” I said, my voice hardening, “I put the ledger in a metal lockbox at the center of the Monroe Street Bridge tomorrow at noon. You send one unarmed man to collect it. After that, this feud is buried forever.”

The silence stretched on for an agonizing thirty seconds. I held my breath, gripping Luca’s hand so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“Noon,” the Don finally rasped. “One man. If there is a single police officer within ten blocks, we burn Chicago to the ground.”

The line went dead.

I exhaled a massive, shaky breath and collapsed backward into Luca’s arms.

He caught me, burying his face in my neck, holding me like I was made of glass.

“You did it,” Luca whispered, a broken laugh escaping his lips. “You actually did it. You out-negotiated the New York Dons.”

I looked at the black ledger on the table, feeling the gold locket resting against my chest.