STOP CUTTING HIS FOOD! HE'S NOT A CHILD, AND I WON'T HAVE SOME PATHETIC OLD MAN BEGGING AT MY ENGAGEMENT DINNER!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 27-YEAR-OLD MAID FOR HELPING A 74-YEAR-OLD MAN WITH TREMBLING HANDS—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI HEARD THE MAN WHISPER, “MY SON DIED SAVING YOU,” H

I stared at the black velvet box in Luca's hand, my heart suddenly racing.

"Luca, you don't have to give me anything," I stammered, stepping back slightly. "You've already done so much for me and Lily."

Luca shook his head, a small smile breaking through his serious expression. "Open it, Emily."

I took the box with trembling fingers. I lifted the lid.

Inside wasn't a piece of romantic jewelry. It was a heavy, silver key with the Moretti family crest engraved on the bow.

I looked up, confused. "A key?"

"It’s the master key to the estate's underground vault," Luca explained quietly. "Only the head of the family holds it. Inside are the deeds to all the legitimate properties, the trust funds for Lily and Emma, and enough clean capital to ensure none of you ever have to worry again."

My stomach dropped. "Why are you giving this to me?"

"Because if something happens to me in New York," Luca said, his eyes intensely focused on mine, "I need to know the people I care about most are protected. I trust you to manage it, Emily. You've proven your loyalty a hundred times over."

"Don't talk like that," I said, my voice cracking. "You're going to come back."

Luca gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch was warm, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I plan to," he said softly. "But Victor Romano is a ruthless man. He doesn't believe a mafia boss can just walk away and become a philanthropist. I have to convince him to leave Chicago alone."

"Then I'm coming with you," I declared.

Luca chuckled, stepping back. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

"I am the estate manager," I insisted, raising my chin. "I manage your affairs. If you're going to a business meeting that decides the fate of this family, I should be there."

Luca looked at me for a long moment, admiring my stubbornness.

"You're impossible," he smiled.

"I'll go pack my bags," I said, turning toward the door.

Two days later, Luca, Dante, and I arrived at a luxurious, heavily guarded penthouse in Manhattan.

The atmosphere was suffocating. Dozens of armed men in sharp suits lined the walls. In the center of the massive room sat Victor Romano, a terrifyingly calm man in his sixties, smoking a cigar.

"Luca," Victor greeted, not standing up. "You brought a small crew. And a woman?"

Victor’s cold eyes landed on me, assessing me like a piece of meat.

"Emily is my chief of staff," Luca said smoothly, sitting across from Victor. "We have legitimate business to discuss, Victor. Let's not waste time."

Victor laughed, a dry, raspy sound. "Legitimate. That’s the word of the year for you, isn't it? Tell me, Luca... how does a wolf suddenly decide to eat grass?"

"Times change," Luca said evenly. "My father's era is over. The violence brings too much heat."

"The violence is the foundation," Victor snarled, dropping his calm facade. "You're making us all look weak. I hear you let the Bellini girl live. You killed your own brother instead of covering it up. You're a liability, Luca."

Victor snapped his fingers.