THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A USELESS LITTLE MAID” WHEN I STOPPED THE PIANIST IN THE MIDDLE OF THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN LUCA HEARD THE SONG SHE WAS PLAYING, HE STOOD UP SO FAST HIS CHAIR FELL BACKWARD. “Stop playing.”

The heavy glass door slid open, operated by a guard with an assault rifle pointed directly at my chest.

I stepped into the opulent living room, dripping rainwater onto the pristine white rugs.

Carlo Bellini, a man who looked more like a Wall Street banker than a mob boss, took the cigar from his mouth. He looked at me with mild amusement. "Well. The little maid. You have a lot of nerve walking in here, Miss Cole."

"Rachel!" Leo cried out, trying to scramble up from the floor.

A guard shoved him back down.

My blood boiled, but I kept my face perfectly blank. I held up the wooden rosary.

"Antonio Moretti's offshore account numbers," I said smoothly, forcing my voice not to shake. "Four hundred million dollars, untraceable. If you want it, you let the boy go. He walks out the front gate, and I hand this over."

Answer one: I was using a fake rosary to buy Leo's freedom.

Open one: Would Vanessa realize it was a bluff?

Open two: Where was Luca positioned?

Vanessa wheeled herself forward, her face twisted in a cruel sneer. "You think we're stupid? My father doesn't care about Antonio's offshore accounts. We care about the bloodline. With the boy dead, Luca is the last Moretti. Once he's out of the picture, we take the territory."

"Then why am I still alive?"

The voice came from the hallway.

Everyone turned.

Luca walked into the room. He wasn't sneaking. He wasn't hiding behind cover. He walked right into the center of the room, entirely unarmed, his hands raised in surrender.

"Luca," Carlo said, genuinely surprised. "You came to die for a bastard child."

"I came to make a trade," Luca said, his eyes locking on Vanessa. "You want the territory. You want the Moretti empire. You can have it. I'll sign the transfer papers right now. Everything I own, every business, every property, legally transferred to the Bellini family."

Vanessa laughed. "Why would we let you sign it when we can just kill you and the boy and take it anyway?"

"Because," Luca said, pulling a folded legal document from his jacket pocket. "If I die before this is signed, my entire estate goes into an irrevocable blind trust managed by the federal government. You won't get a single dime. You'll get an IRS investigation that will dismantle your entire operation."

The room went dead silent.

Reversal: Luca wasn't trying to win the mafia war. He was willingly surrendering his entire empire to save his nephew and me. He was giving up his birthright.

Carlo stared at the document. Greed flickered in his eyes. He nodded to a guard, who snatched the paper from Luca and handed it to the older man. Carlo read it quickly, his eyes widening.

"It's ironclad," Carlo murmured to Vanessa. "If we kill him, we get nothing. If he signs this, we own Chicago legally."

"Give him a pen," Vanessa spat.

Luca took the pen. "The boy and Rachel leave first. I watch them walk out the front gate. Then I sign."

Carlo nodded. "Let them go."

The guards stepped back. I rushed forward, scooping Leo into my arms. He buried his face in my neck, sobbing quietly.

"Rachel, go," Luca said, his eyes meeting mine. There was so much unspoken emotion in that single look—apology, love, and a desperate plea for me to run.

I carried Leo out the front doors, walking down the long driveway toward the massive iron gates. The cold rain hit my face, but I didn't stop.

We reached the street. We were safe.

But I couldn't leave him. I couldn't let Luca sacrifice himself to monsters.

I set Leo down behind a thick brick pillar outside the gate. "Stay here, Leo. Do not move. I'm coming right back."

I pulled the suppressed pistol Luca had given me from my coat pocket.

I ran back up the driveway, staying low in the shadows of the hedges.

Through the glass window, I saw Luca leaning over the coffee table, pen in hand. Carlo was smiling. Vanessa was watching eagerly.

But then, the front doors of the compound blew open with a deafening crash.

It wasn't the police.

It was Antonio Moretti, flanked by a dozen heavily armed syndicate enforcers.