**“TELL EVERYONE THAT BABY HAS NO FATHER! OR I'LL HAVE YOU THROWN OUT BEFORE DESSERT!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD PREGNANT MAID IN FRONT OF FORTY DINNER GUESTS—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI SAW THE WEDDING RING HANGING AROUND HER NECK, HE STOOD UP SO FAST HIS CHAIR HIT THE FLOOR.**

The smell of gasoline was suffocating, burning the back of my throat with every frantic breath.

“They’re going to burn us alive,” I sobbed, backing away from the vents as the clear, noxious liquid began to drip onto the white tiled floor of the safe room.

Luca didn't panic. The ruthless, calculating Don of Chicago took over entirely.

“Cover your mouth and nose,” Luca ordered, stripping off his suit jacket and pressing it against my face. The expensive wool smelled of his cologne, a sharp contrast to the toxic fumes filling the small room.

He turned his flashlight toward the ceiling, sweeping the beam across the steel-reinforced concrete.

“Victor is arrogant, but he’s not a structural engineer,” Luca muttered, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a small, grated air return duct near the back corner.

“What are you doing?” I mumbled through the fabric of the jacket.

“When my father built this room, he insisted on a manual override for the ventilation system in case of a chemical attack,” Luca explained, dragging a heavy metal filing cabinet directly beneath the vent. “Victor thinks he cut off the air supply, but he only hijacked the intake.”

Luca climbed onto the filing cabinet, his broad shoulders brushing the low ceiling. He pulled a sleek, tactical folding knife from his pocket and jammed the thick blade into the screws holding the grate in place.

The gasoline was pooling around my shoes now, the fumes making me dizzy. My pregnant belly ached with a dull, throbbing cramp, but I forced myself to stay awake.

“Luca, hurry,” I pleaded, my vision blurring at the edges.

“Almost there,” he grunted, the muscles in his forearms bulging as he pried the heavy iron grate loose. With a loud screech of tearing metal, the grate popped off, clattering to the floor.

Behind the grate was a narrow, dark, brick-lined shaft.

“It leads up to the sub-floor of the caretaker’s cabin behind the mansion,” Luca said, aiming his flashlight into the dark hole.

He jumped down from the cabinet and looked at me. His expression was a mixture of fierce determination and agonizing guilt.

“I can’t fit through there, Anna,” Luca said quietly.

My heart stopped.

I looked at his massive, broad-shouldered frame, then at the narrow twelve-by-twelve-inch opening. He was right.

“No,” I cried, shaking my head violently. “I am not leaving you down here! They’ll burn you!”

“If you don't climb through that shaft, we both die,” Luca stated, his voice completely devoid of panic, holding my face gently in his large, warm hands. “You are carrying my brother’s legacy. The only piece of Michael I have left. I will not let his child die in a steel box.”

“Luca, please,” I wept, the tears stinging my gasoline-fumed eyes.

“Listen to me,” he commanded softly, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Climb up. Crawl until you hit the wooden grate at the top. Kick it out. You’ll be in the caretaker’s cabin in the woods. There’s an old hunting truck in the garage. The keys are in the visor. Drive as fast as you can to St. Jude’s Church downtown and ask for Father Thomas. Do you understand?”

“What about you?” I choked out.

Luca smiled, a cold, terrifying smile that promised violence.

“Victor is waiting outside that steel door with a match,” Luca whispered. “But he doesn't know I have a full armory in this room. The moment you are safe, I’m going to blow the lock off that door and introduce my former security chief to hell.”

I knew I couldn't argue. I didn't have the breath left to fight him.

Luca lifted me effortlessly by my waist, helping me climb onto the filing cabinet. I squeezed my head and shoulders into the narrow, dusty shaft. The claustrophobia was instant and terrifying, but the desperate instinct to protect my unborn baby pushed me forward.

“Don't look back, Anna,” Luca ordered from below.

I began to army-crawl through the pitch-black shaft, pulling my swollen belly carefully over the rough brick. Dust and cobwebs coated my face and uniform.

I crawled for what felt like an eternity, the sound of Luca moving heavy metal objects in the safe room fading into a distant echo.

Suddenly, a massive, thunderous explosion shook the very foundation of the tunnel.

The shockwave blasted dust into my eyes, and a deafening roar echoed from below.

Luca.

He had blown the door.

I sobbed, kicking my feet frantically, pushing myself faster up the incline. I saw a faint sliver of moonlight shining through a wooden slat above me.

I reached the top, shoving my hands against the old wooden grate. It gave way easily, rotting from years of moisture.

I scrambled out of the hole, collapsing onto the dusty wooden floor of the abandoned caretaker’s cabin.

I gasped for fresh air, the clean scent of pine and rain washing the gasoline fumes from my lungs. I rolled onto my back, clutching my pregnant belly, praying silently that the baby was okay.

Thump. Thump.

A strong, steady kick against my palm answered my prayer.

I let out a hysterical, relieved laugh, wiping the dirt and tears from my face.

I had to get the truck. I had to get to St. Jude’s.

I pushed myself off the floor, relying on the moonlight streaming through the dirty windows to guide me. The cabin was a single room, cluttered with old tools and forgotten furniture.

I moved toward the back door that led to the small attached garage.

But as my hand touched the rusted doorknob, a quiet, metallic click echoed through the dark cabin.

The unmistakable sound of a gun hammer being cocked.

I froze.

A flashlight beam suddenly clicked on, blinding me in the darkness.

“You’re a lot faster than you look for a pregnant maid, Anna,” a cold, familiar voice sneered from the corner of the room.

I squinted against the glaring light.

Sitting in a dusty armchair, holding a silver pistol aimed directly at my stomach, was Vanessa Bellini.

She had changed out of her ruined red gown. She was wearing dark tactical clothes, her perfect hair tied back in a harsh ponytail. The terrified, crying woman from the dining room was completely gone, replaced by a calculating, ruthless survivor.

“Vanessa?” I breathed, my hands instinctively covering my belly. “How did you get out here?”

“While Luca and Victor were busy measuring their egos in the dining room, I slipped out through the kitchen,” Vanessa mocked, standing up slowly. “I’ve known about this cabin for months. Victor told me it was the secondary extraction point.”

“Victor told you?” I frowned, my mind struggling to piece the horror together. “You’re working with the man who killed Michael?”

Vanessa laughed. A dry, humorless sound.

“I didn't work with Victor, sweetheart,” Vanessa said, taking a slow step toward me, keeping the gun leveled. “I paid Victor. I hired him to run Michael off the road.”

The revelation hit me like a physical blow.

“You hired him?” I whispered, horrified.

“Michael found out my father was bankrupt,” Vanessa explained, her eyes burning with pure malice. “He found out I was selling Moretti shipping routes to the Reyes Cartel to cover my family’s debts. He told me he was going to expose me to Luca the night he died.”

She stepped closer, the barrel of the gun now inches from my chest.

“I couldn't let him ruin my wedding, Anna,” Vanessa hissed. “I am meant to be the Queen of this city. Not a disgraced bankrupt socialite.”

“You murdered the man I loved for a wedding ring,” I cried, disgusted by the sheer, hollow vanity of her evil.

“And now, I’m going to murder you for his account numbers,” Vanessa said smoothly.

I stopped breathing. “What account numbers?”

“Don't play stupid,” Vanessa snarled, grabbing my wrist roughly. “The cartel wants the offshore accounts Michael hid before he died. They know he gave them to you. Give me the numbers, and I’ll shoot you in the head so you don't feel the fire when I burn this cabin down.”

“He didn't give me any numbers!” I screamed, struggling against her grip. “He gave me a wedding ring! That’s all I have!”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. She looked at my wrist, her gaze locking onto a small, intricate tattoo Michael had drawn and paid for me to get a week before our wedding. It was a beautiful, abstract design of a swallow in flight.

“You really are a stupid little maid,” Vanessa laughed cruelly.