THE ASHES OF A FATHER'S LEGACY

The name hung in the air like smoke.

Matteo Moretti.

I had only heard whispers of him among the older staff. The firstborn son. The one who was supposed to inherit the empire, but who was banished by Antonio for being too violent, too uncontrollable.

“You sent the locket,” Luca said, his voice deadly calm.

“I did,” Matteo replied through the speaker. “I thought the girl should know why she’s going to die.”

My father shot out of his chair. Luca held up a hand, silently demanding he stay back.

“Carlo is in federal lockup, Matteo,” Luca said. “His men are scattered. Nobody is touching Anna.”

Matteo’s dark chuckle echoed through the phone.

“You always were naive, Luca. You think Carlo Bellini relies on street thugs? He’s a billionaire. He made one phone call from his holding cell an hour ago.”

Answer one. Open two.

“To who?” Luca demanded.

“To me,” Matteo said. “He offered me the entire Chicago port territory if I take out the only two loose ends left. The cop, and the maid.”

My blood ran cold.

Matteo, Luca’s own flesh and blood, had been hired to finish what Carlo started twenty-nine years ago.

“You’re in New York, Matteo,” Luca said. “You have no reach here.”

“Look out your kitchen window, little brother.”

Luca didn’t hesitate. He drew his weapon and stepped in front of me, putting himself between me and the glass.

I peered around his broad shoulder.

Standing at the end of the long driveway, beyond the iron gates, were three black SUVs.

They hadn’t been there five minutes ago.

“I’ve been in Chicago since yesterday, Luca,” Matteo said smoothly. “I knew Carlo was getting sloppy. I just waited for him to fall.”

Reversal.

This wasn’t just a hit. It was a hostile takeover.

With Carlo gone, Matteo was using the contract on my life as an excuse to bring his New York muscle into Luca’s territory.

“If you want the ports, take them,” Luca said, his eyes scanning the tree line for snipers. “But Anna and her father are under my protection.”

“Your protection?” Matteo mocked. “You’re a businessman now, Luca. You wear bespoke suits and go to charity galas. You don’t have the stomach for a real war.”

“Test me,” Luca whispered.

“I am,” Matteo said. “You have ten minutes to send the girl and her father out the front door. If you don’t, my men are coming inside. And I’ll burn that mansion to the ground, just like Vanessa tried to burn the coach house.”

The line went dead.

Panic surged through my chest.

“Luca, they have rifles,” my dad said, peering through the blinds. “We can’t fight an entire hit squad.”

“We’re not going to,” Luca said, holstering his gun and turning to us.

His eyes were blazing with a fierce, calculated intensity.

“Dad, you said Antonio gave you cash the night you ran,” Luca said rapidly.

“Yes,” my father nodded.

“Did he give you anything else? A weapon? A route?”

My father hesitated. “He gave me a key.”

“To what?”

“He said there were old prohibition tunnels under the estate. From when your grandfather ran whiskey. The entrance is in the wine cellar, but the exit is a mile away, near the river.”

Luca smiled grimly.

“They never filled them in.”

He grabbed my hand, his fingers warm and strong against mine.

“We’re leaving,” Luca said.

“What about your house?” I asked, looking around the beautiful kitchen. “Everything you’ve built?”

Luca looked at me, his expression softening for a fraction of a second.

“Bricks can be replaced, Anna. You can’t.”

He grabbed a heavy flashlight from the drawer.

“Let’s go.”

We ran down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time toward the basement.

Above us, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the foyer.

Matteo’s men had breached the front doors.