**“SHE CAN BARELY SET A DINNER TABLE. YOU REALLY THINK SHE KNOWS SIGN LANGUAGE?” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD HOUSEMAID IN FRONT OF FORTY DINNER GUESTS—BUT WHEN THE MAID ANSWERED A DEAF MAN WITH HER HANDS, LUCA MORETTI DISCOVERED WHY HIS DAUGHTER'S GRANDFATHER HAD STOPPED COMING TO SEE HER.**

I stared at the tiny, faded photograph of Claire Moretti inside the silver locket.

My lungs felt like they had forgotten how to take in air.

Claire had died in a tragic car accident four years ago. The police report said her brakes failed on a steep, winding road during a rainstorm. It was ruled a horrific, unavoidable tragedy. Luca had mourned her for three years before he even considered dating again.

But looking at the locket in Luca's trembling hand, the truth was suddenly glaring and monstrous.

"She told me her great-grandmother gave this to her," Luca repeated, his voice hollow, as if he were trying to convince himself it was just a nightmare. "She wore it every day. But it's Claire's. Claire was wearing this the night she died."

He looked up at me, his dark eyes filled with absolute devastation.

"She took it off my wife's body, Rachel."

A sob tore from my throat. The level of sociopathic cruelty required to murder a woman, steal her jewelry, and then wear it while marrying her husband was beyond my comprehension.

"But Mr. Moretti," I stammered, trying to make sense of the madness. "If Vanessa killed Claire four years ago... she didn't even know you back then. You met Vanessa two years ago at a charity gala."

Luca’s jaw clenched. The devastation in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating fury.

"She didn't know me," Luca said quietly, snapping the locket shut. "But someone else did. Someone who needed Claire out of the way. Someone who hired Vanessa to do it, long before she manipulated her way into my life."

"Who?" I whispered.

Luca didn't answer. He slipped the locket into his suit pocket and walked purposefully toward his private study.

I followed him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Two armed guards stood outside the heavy oak doors of the study. When they saw Luca approaching, they immediately stepped aside and unlocked the doors.

Luca pushed them open.

Vanessa was sitting in a leather armchair in the center of the room. Her red gown was torn at the shoulder, her mascara smeared down her cheeks. She looked up, expecting to see Marco or another guard.

When she saw Luca, she immediately began crying again.

"Luca, please!" she sobbed, standing up and rushing toward him. "I can explain everything! The Russians forced me! I didn't want to hurt Sophie!"

Luca didn't slow down. He didn't raise his hands. He didn't shout.

He walked directly up to Vanessa and backhanded her across the face with terrifying force.

The crack echoed in the quiet study.

Vanessa spun and collapsed onto the hardwood floor, crying out in shock and pain. She scrambled backward, pressing her back against the large mahogany desk, clutching her cheek.

"You hit me," she gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Luca stood over her, his chest heaving. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver locket.

He dropped it onto the floor right in front of her.

Vanessa froze. The tears stopped instantly. Her eyes locked onto the silver locket, and all the color drained from her face.

"Tell me," Luca whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal intent. "Tell me how a locket that was around my wife's neck the night she died ended up in the pocket of a Russian courier you hired."

Vanessa opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She stared at the locket as if it were a venomous snake.

"Did you cut the brake lines, Vanessa?" Luca asked, kneeling down so he was eye-level with her. "Or did you just run her off the road?"

"I... I didn't..." she stammered, shaking her head frantically. "I bought that at an antique store!"

"If you lie to me again," Luca said, his voice dropping to a dead calm, "I will let Marco take you to the basement. And I promise you, you will not die quickly."

Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut. She was cornered, and she knew it. The facade of the innocent, frightened fiancée crumbled, revealing the cold, calculating survivor beneath.

She opened her eyes and looked at Luca.

"I didn't kill her," Vanessa said, her voice steadying. "I just delivered the package."

Luca’s eyes narrowed. "What package?"

"The money," Vanessa spat. "I was a courier for the Bratva four years ago, Luca. I wasn't a socialite. I was running cash to pay off my father's debts. The Russians wanted your territory. But Claire... Claire was too smart. She managed the Moretti family trusts. She was blocking their shell companies from buying up the South Side real estate."

I stood by the door, listening in horrified silence. Claire hadn't just been a wife; she had been the financial shield protecting the Moretti empire.

"So they ordered a hit," Luca deduced softly.

"Yes," Vanessa nodded. "But they didn't want it to look like a mob hit. They wanted an accident. So they hired someone from inside your own house to do it."

Luca froze. "Inside my house?"

"Yes," Vanessa smiled, a twisted, bitter grin. "I just delivered the payment to the assassin after the job was done. The locket was the proof of death. The assassin took it off her body and gave it to me to show the Bratva the job was finished. I kept it because it was pretty."

Luca grabbed Vanessa by the throat, pinning her against the desk.

"Who?" Luca roared, his restraint finally snapping. "Who inside my house killed my wife?!"

Vanessa gasped for air, her hands clawing desperately at his grip.

"I'll... I'll tell you," she choked out. "But you have to promise me safe passage out of Chicago. If the Russians find out I talked, they'll kill my whole family."

"I am going to kill your whole family if you don't give me a name!" Luca screamed.

Suddenly, a loud, frantic knocking sounded at the study doors.

Luca didn't let go of Vanessa, but he turned his head. "What?!"

The doors burst open. It was Marco. He looked paler than I had ever seen him.

"Boss," Marco said, his voice tight. "You need to come to the east wing safe room. Now."

Luca finally released Vanessa's throat. She collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently.

"What's wrong?" Luca demanded. "Is Sophie okay?"

"Sophie is fine," Marco said quickly. "But Frank... Frank just found something in the safe room."

Luca and I ran out of the study, leaving Vanessa locked inside with the guards. We sprinted down the long, carpeted hallways toward the east wing.

When we reached the safe room, the heavy steel door was wide open.

Inside, Frank was standing in the center of the room, trembling uncontrollably. Sophie was sitting on the couch, looking confused and scared.

Frank held a piece of paper in his hands.

When he saw Luca, he immediately began signing, his hands moving with frantic, desperate energy.

I rushed forward to translate.

"Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice shaking as I watched Frank's hands. "Frank says... he was looking for a blanket for Sophie in the closet. He found a loose floorboard."

Luca frowned, looking at the closet. "A loose floorboard?"

I nodded, swallowing hard. "He pulled it up. There was a metal lockbox underneath."

Frank held out the piece of paper he had found inside the box.

Luca took it. He read the document, his eyes scanning the elegant, cursive handwriting.

As he read, the color completely drained from his face.

"Mr. Moretti?" I whispered. "What is it?"

Luca slowly looked up. He looked at Marco. Then he looked at Frank.

"It's a revised will," Luca said, his voice completely hollow. "Signed by Claire. Dated the day before she died."

Frank signed quickly.

"He asks what it says," I translated.

Luca looked back down at the paper, his hands trembling.

"It says," Luca whispered, "that if Claire dies, all her shares in the Moretti trusts, and full legal custody of Sophie... are to be immediately transferred to her brother."

The room went dead silent.

Claire's brother. Frank's son.

"Uncle Thomas?" Sophie asked from the couch. "But Uncle Thomas lives in New York."