My mafia boss husband finally admitted why he married me seventeen years ago.

My blood ran cold.

The man with the silver hair stepped fully into the chapel, his expensive leather shoes clicking sharply against the marble. His men fanned out, their hands resting casually inside their tailored jackets.

Celeste instantly raised her weapon. "Federal agents! Hands where I can see them!"

The silver-haired man didn't even blink at the gun pointed at his chest. He reached into his breast pocket and slowly pulled out a piece of paper, holding it up for Celeste to see.

"Federal injunction, Agent Vargas," the man said smoothly. "Signed by a federal judge ten minutes ago. The FBI has no jurisdiction over this family dispute. You are ordered to stand down."

Celeste's face tightened. She recognized the signature. The corruption ran higher than we thought.

"Who are you?" I demanded, pushing Anthony behind me.

The man offered a polite, chilling bow. "Matteo Lucchese. I believe that makes me your uncle, Evelyn."

He looked past me, his eyes landing on my mother.

Margaret was still standing over Richard, her gun shaking.

"Hello, Margaret," Matteo said softly. "It's been a long time. You took something very precious from us when you fled New York."

"I took my daughter," my mother spat. "And I'll kill you before I let you take her back."

"I don't want Evelyn," Matteo smiled, his eyes shifting to Anthony. "I want the boy. He belongs to the Lucchese family."

"He belongs to no one!" I shouted. "He's a seventeen-year-old kid!"

"He is the heir to a billion-dollar empire," Matteo corrected coldly. "And since his father—" he gestured to Vincent's unconscious body being loaded onto a stretcher by terrified paramedics "—seems indisposed, the family requires the boy to come home."

"Over my dead body," Anthony growled, stepping out from behind me. His fists were clenched, his jaw set. He looked so much like Vincent it broke my heart.

Matteo’s smile widened. "A fighter. Good. The blood runs strong."

He gestured to his men. "Take him."

"No!" I screamed, grabbing the heavy brass candlestick from the nearest pew.

But before the men could take a single step, the chapel doors slammed open again.

A blinding array of flashing red and blue lights illuminated the stained glass windows. Dozens of heavily armed SWAT officers poured into the room, their assault rifles raised.

"Drop your weapons!" a commanding voice echoed through a bullhorn. "Nobody moves!"

Matteo’s men froze. Even with a federal injunction, they couldn't shoot their way through an entire SWAT team.

Celeste lowered her gun, looking just as confused as Matteo. "I didn't call SWAT."

A tall man in a dark trench coat walked through the line of officers. He had a stern, weathered face and held a gold badge.

"Captain Donovan, Chicago PD," he announced. He looked at Matteo. "Your federal injunction covers the FBI. It doesn't cover local homicide investigations."

Matteo frowned. "Homicide? Who was murdered?"

Donovan looked directly at Claire.

My sister shrank back, clutching her stomach.

"Claire Bennett," Donovan said loudly. "You are under arrest for the murder of Senator Thomas Hayes three years ago."

Claire let out a piercing scream. "What?! No! I didn't!"

Donovan held up a small, clear evidence bag. Inside was a silver locket.

I recognized it. It was the locket Claire wore every day. The one she said she lost on a trip to Washington D.C. three years ago.

"We found this at the crime scene," Donovan said. "Along with your DNA."

"It's a setup!" Claire shrieked, looking frantically at our father. "Dad, tell them! Tell them Vincent did it!"

Richard laughed weakly from the floor, clutching his bleeding leg. "You stupid girl. Vincent didn't kill the Senator. You did. To protect your precious little secret."

My stomach dropped.

"What secret?" I asked, looking between my sister and my father.

Donovan walked forward and slapped cuffs on Claire's wrists, ignoring her hysterical sobbing.

"The Senator was blackmailing her," Donovan explained to me, his voice surprisingly gentle. "He knew the truth about her baby."

I looked at Claire's swollen belly. "What truth?"

Claire stopped fighting. She looked at me, her face pale and streaked with mascara.

"The baby isn't Vincent's," Claire whispered, her voice cracking. "And it isn't a mistake."