SHE'S LYING, LUCA! THAT OLD WOMAN STOLE FROM ME, AND YOUR MAID IS HELPING HER COVER IT UP!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD HOUSEKEEPER IN FRONT OF FORTY GUESTS—

The man sitting directly to Luca’s right was Matteo Moretti.

He was thirty-four years old, wearing an immaculate charcoal suit that cost more than my mother’s house.

But he shared no blood with the Moretti family.

Luca’s father had adopted Matteo from a local orphanage twenty-five years ago. For over two decades, Matteo had been Luca’s shadow. He was the underboss of the family empire, the man Luca trusted with his life, his business, and his secrets.

Now, forty wealthy guests were staring at him in dead, suffocating silence.

Vanessa’s manicured hand was still gripping Matteo’s forearm. Her knuckles were white.

“Don't answer that,” she had whispered.

But Luca didn't look at his fiancée. His dark, piercing eyes were locked entirely on the man he had called his brother for twenty-five years.

“Matteo,” Luca said.

His voice wasn't a shout. It was a quiet, terrifying rumble that seemed to rattle the crystal glasses on the long banquet table.

“Is Rosa telling the truth?”

Matteo let out a forced, hollow laugh. He gently pried Vanessa’s fingers off his arm and adjusted his silk tie.

“Luca, listen to yourself,” Matteo said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re interrogating your own brother at your engagement dinner because an eighty-year-old woman is confused. Sofia hasn't been in Chicago for six years. If she had a child, don't you think I would have told you?”

Rosa’s hands trembled against her faded blue cardigan.

“I am old, Matteo,” Rosa whispered, her voice carrying the weight of decades of loyalty. “But my mind is perfectly clear. I held that little boy yesterday. He has your eyes.”

Matteo’s face darkened. He slammed his hand flat against the mahogany table.

“Enough!” Matteo snapped, the sudden violence in his voice making several guests flinch. “I won't sit here and be accused of hiding a bastard child by the help. Luca, tell your maid and your retired nanny to leave before they ruin the rest of the evening.”

Luca didn't blink. He didn't move.

He slowly looked down at Vanessa.

“Why did you tell him not to answer?” Luca asked her quietly.

Vanessa swallowed hard. The confident, cruel woman who had humiliated me ten minutes earlier was completely gone, replaced by someone frantically calculating her next lie.

“Because… because I knew Rosa was just trying to cause a scene,” Vanessa stammered, offering a fragile smile. “She hates me, Luca. She’s always hated me. She’s inventing a story about Sofia to break us up.”

I stood near the edge of the dining room, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.

I was just a twenty-five-year-old housekeeper. I was supposed to be invisible. But I remembered the little boy I had seen yesterday standing by the black SUV in the driveway.

I remembered what he had dropped.

“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered.

The entire room turned to look at me. The sheer weight of their stares made my stomach drop, but I thought of Rosa’s kindness, and I forced myself to speak.

“The little boy,” I said, my voice shaking. “When he was getting into the car yesterday… he dropped something on the driveway. I picked it up after they drove away.”

Matteo’s posture instantly went rigid.

“Hannah,” Vanessa hissed, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Shut your mouth. Right now.”

“Go ahead, Hannah,” Luca commanded, never breaking eye contact with his brother. “Show me.”

I reached into the deep pocket of my black uniform apron. My fingers brushed against the crumpled piece of paper I had found near the tire tracks twenty-four hours earlier.

I pulled it out and walked slowly toward the head of the table.

I placed it gently on the white tablecloth in front of Luca.

It was a child’s drawing, done in thick, wobbly crayon.

It showed three stick figures holding hands. A woman with long yellow hair. A small boy. And a man.

But it wasn't just any man.

The little boy had drawn a very specific, jagged black star on the back of the man’s right hand.

The exact same star tattoo that Matteo Moretti had gotten when he was eighteen years old.

Luca stared at the drawing. The silence in the room was absolute. You could hear the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

“Sofia drew that to frame me!” Matteo shouted, standing up so quickly his heavy chair tipped backward and crashed onto the marble floor. “She’s crazy, Luca! You know she’s always been unstable! She’s trying to extort the family!”

Luca slowly picked up the drawing. He traced his thumb over the crude star tattoo.

Then, he looked up at Matteo.

“You just said she hasn't been in Chicago for six years,” Luca said softly.

Matteo froze. He had caught himself in his own lie.

“If she hasn't been here,” Luca continued, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “how do you know she drew this to frame you?”

Matteo opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Luca stood up. He didn't yell. He didn't throw a punch. He simply turned to his head of security, a massive man named Marco who was standing by the double doors.

“Marco,” Luca said calmly. “Lock the doors. Escort our guests to the front gate. Nobody else leaves this property. Not my brother. Not my fiancée.”

The guests immediately began standing, murmuring in panicked, hushed tones as Marco’s men ushered them out of the dining room.

Within ninety seconds, the massive room was empty, save for Luca, Matteo, Vanessa, Rosa, and me.

Luca turned back to Matteo.

“You are the father of my sister’s child,” Luca stated. It was no longer a question.

Matteo’s chest heaved. Seeing that the lie was dead, his expression hardened into something cold and resentful.

“Yes,” Matteo spat, wiping his mouth. “I’m his father. Six years ago, when you banished her fiancé, Sofia came to me for comfort. We made a mistake. When she got pregnant, she panicked. She knew you’d kill me for touching her. So she ran.”

Luca’s eyes filled with a terrifying, ancient grief. “And when she came back yesterday to finally tell me… you sent her away.”

“I was protecting the family!” Matteo yelled. “You think a scandal like this wouldn't destroy our reputation? An adopted brother sleeping with the boss’s sister? I gave her money. I told her to get back on a plane.”

Rosa let out a heartbreaking sob.

“You didn't put her on a plane, Matteo,” Rosa cried.

Matteo glared at the old woman. “Shut up, Rosa.”

“Don't you speak to her like that,” Luca growled, stepping toward him.

But Rosa wasn't looking at Matteo. She was looking at me.

Her faded blue eyes were wide with terror as she reached into the pocket of her cardigan.

“Hannah,” Rosa whispered, her hands shaking violently. “Give this to Luca. Tell him where you found it.”

Rosa handed me a small, heavy object.

I looked down at my palm.

My blood ran cold.

It was a thick, silver rosary. The cross was slightly bent at the bottom.

I recognized it instantly. Because yesterday afternoon, I had seen Vanessa Bellini tearing apart the guest bedroom where Sofia had briefly waited.