**“PUT THAT BAG AWAY! MY FIANCÉ'S HOUSE IS NOT A SHELTER FOR WOMEN WHO CAN'T KEEP THEIR MARRIAGES TOGETHER!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 30-YEAR-OLD SISTER IN FRONT OF THIRTY DINNER GUESTS—BUT WHEN SHE WHISPERED, “LUCA, I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO GO BACK TO HIM,” HER BROTHER SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS GLASS.**

The damp air of the sub-basement turned to ice in my lungs.

I stared at the photograph on the stone floor. It was a candid picture of me walking out of a grocery store two weeks ago. My hair was tied up, I was carrying a plastic bag, and I looked utterly ordinary.

But the thick red ‘X’ scrawled across my face transformed it into a death warrant.

“Me?” I gasped, stumbling backward until my back hit the cold, damp stone of the cellar wall. “Why me? I’m just a housekeeper!”

Luca didn't flinch, didn't turn to look at me, and didn't lower his gun. His dark eyes remained locked on Marco.

“Who issued the contract, Marco?” Luca demanded, his voice a low, vibrating growl of suppressed violence.

Marco hesitated, the heavy assault rifle wavering for a fraction of a second.

“You know I can’t tell you that, Boss,” Marco said, his voice thick with regret. “It came from the top. Above you. Above all of us in Chicago. If I don't execute her tonight, they will kill my wife and kids. I have no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Luca said softly. “You take a shot at her, you have to shoot through me. And we both know I won't miss from this distance.”

“Luca, please,” Isabella begged, clutching my arm, her whole body trembling. “Don't do this. Let her go, Marco.”

“I can’t!” Marco yelled, desperation cracking his hardened exterior. “You don't understand who you’re protecting! She’s not just a maid!”

“Then tell me who she is,” Luca ordered.

Marco pointed a thick, trembling finger at me.

“Ask her!” Marco shouted. “Ask her what her real name is! Ask her where she was five years ago before she miraculously showed up applying for a job in your house!”

I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck. My heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs.

“My name is Emily Parker,” I said, my voice shaking violently. “I lived in Ohio five years ago. I moved here to help my parents.”

Marco laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that echoed in the dark cellar.

“You’re a liar,” Marco spat. “The people who issued the contract ran your fingerprints from a wine glass you cleared at the dinner party last month. Emily Parker died in a car crash when she was six years old.”

The world spun violently.

Luca finally turned his head slightly, just enough to look at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Emily,” Luca said, his voice eerily calm. “Is that true?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I looked at Isabella, who was staring at me with a mixture of confusion and dawning horror.

I couldn't lie to him anymore. Not when he was standing between me and a bullet.

“Yes,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “Emily Parker isn't my real name.”

“Then who are you?” Luca demanded.

I took a shuddering breath, the secret I had buried for five years finally clawing its way up my throat.

“My name is Amelia Vance,” I confessed, tears spilling over my eyelashes. “And five years ago, I was a federal prosecutor for the Department of Justice.”

The silence in the sub-basement was deafening.

Isabella gasped, pulling her hand away from my arm as if I had burned her.

Luca’s expression didn't change, but his eyes hardened into obsidian.

A federal prosecutor. Working as a maid in the home of the most powerful mafia boss in Chicago.

“You’re a plant,” Luca realized, the betrayal hitting him with a quiet, devastating force. “You’ve been wearing a wire for two years.”

“No!” I cried frantically, stepping toward him. “No, Luca, I swear to God I haven't! I’m not an active agent! I ran away!”

Marco scoffed. “Feds don't run away and scrub toilets for the mob just for fun, lady.”

“I was building a RICO case against the Moretti family five years ago,” I explained rapidly, panic rising in my chest. “I was the lead prosecutor. But during the investigation, I discovered something. Something the FBI didn't want me to find.”

“What?” Luca asked, keeping his gun trained on Marco.

“I found out your father didn't die of a heart attack,” I said, looking directly at Luca. “He was murdered.”

Luca went completely rigid. His father, Antonio Moretti, had died peacefully in his sleep five years ago. It was the reason Luca had taken over the family so young.

“Who killed him?” Luca whispered, a dangerous edge entering his voice.

“The same people who ordered the hit on me tonight,” I said, pointing a trembling finger at Marco. “The Chicago Police Commissioner and the lead FBI agent on your case. They were on your father’s payroll. But your father wanted to go legitimate. He was going to expose them to protect you from federal indictment.”

I wiped the tears from my face, my voice hardening.

“They murdered him to keep their secret. When I found the evidence in the encrypted files, the FBI burned me. They framed me for selling state secrets. I knew they would kill me if I stayed, so I stole the identity of a dead girl and ran.”

“Why come here?” Isabella asked, bewildered. “Why work for the son of the man you were investigating?”

“Because it was the last place they would ever look for a federal prosecutor,” I admitted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “And because I hoped that if I stayed close enough, I might find the physical proof I needed to clear my name and expose the men who killed your father.”

Marco shook his head, keeping his rifle aimed at me.

“It’s a great story, Fed,” Marco said grimly. “But it doesn't change my orders. The Commissioner knows you’re here now. If you don't die tonight, my family does.”

Marco’s finger tightened on the trigger.

“I’m sorry, Boss.”

Marco prepared to fire.

But Luca Moretti was not a man who surrendered to ultimatums.

Luca didn't shoot Marco. Instead, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a small, heavy object, and hurled it into the darkness of the cellar behind Marco.

A fraction of a second later, a blinding, white-hot flash erupted in the enclosed space.

It was a tactical flashbang grenade.

The deafening BANG blew my eardrums, plunging the world into a ringing silence. The brilliant light scorched my retinas, leaving me completely blind in the dark.

“Run!” Luca’s voice roared from somewhere near my left ear.

He grabbed my hand, hauling me violently forward. I grabbed Isabella’s hand, and we sprinted blindly through the maze of the sub-basement.

I couldn't see anything. I could only hear the heavy, frantic thud of our boots on the concrete and the terrifying, disoriented shouts of Marco recovering behind us.

“This way!” Luca yelled, dragging us up a narrow, spiraling metal staircase I hadn't known existed.

We burst through a heavy iron door into the freezing night air.

We were in the private enclosed garden at the back of the estate. The rain was pouring down in sheets, washing away the blindness from my eyes.

“We have to make it to the garage,” Luca ordered, pushing us toward the massive, multi-car structure across the lawn.

But before we could take ten steps, the heavy wooden gates of the garden splintered inward.

Two black SUVs roared into the courtyard, tearing up the manicured grass. They skidded to a halt between us and the garage.

The doors flew open, and six men armed with tactical shotguns poured out, forming a wall of steel blocking our only escape route.

Standing in the center of the men, illuminated by the harsh glare of the SUV headlights, was Daniel.

Isabella’s husband.

He looked completely out of place in a tailored business suit, holding a shotgun clumsily in his hands, his face pale and sweating.

“Hello, Isabella,” Daniel called out over the rain, a desperate, manic smile on his face. “I told you I’d always find you.”

Luca stepped in front of us, raising his pistol, but we were vastly outnumbered and outgunned.

“Daniel, you are out of your depth,” Luca warned, his voice cutting through the storm. “Put the gun down. You don't know what you’ve walked into.”

“I know exactly what I walked into, Luca!” Daniel shouted, taking a step forward. “I know Vanessa set you up. I know your security is compromised. I know you’re vulnerable.”

Daniel pointed the shotgun directly at Luca’s chest.

“I want the three million dollars Vanessa promised me,” Daniel demanded, his voice cracking with hysteria. “I want access to the vault. And I want my wife.”

“You’re not getting any of it,” Luca said coldly.

Daniel’s face twisted in rage.

“Then you die here!” Daniel screamed.

He raised the shotgun to his shoulder, his finger closing over the trigger.

But before Daniel could fire, a massive, deafening explosion rocked the estate behind us.

It wasn't a gunshot. It wasn't a flashbang.

It was the unmistakable roar of the main mansion’s west wing detonating.

A massive fireball shot into the stormy sky, illuminating the garden in a horrific, orange glow.

Daniel and his men froze, staring in absolute shock at the burning mansion.

And in that moment of distraction, the true horror of the night was revealed.

The back doors of the second black SUV slowly opened.

Daniel hadn't brought just his desperate construction workers.