THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO PUTs HIS PREGNANT DAUGHTER IN A CAB BEFORE THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN I WALKED HER INTO THE DINING ROOM, LUCA MORETTI DROPPED HIS FORK AND WHISPERED, “YOU’RE HAVING A BABY?”

The sickening CRACK of bone snapping echoed in the grand dining room, followed instantly by Arthur Bellini’s agonizing, high-pitched scream.

I squeezed my eyes shut, clapping my hands over my ears, but I couldn't block out the sound of a man being broken.

When I opened my eyes, Arthur was slumped in the chair, unconscious from the sheer pain. Marco calmly wiped a heavy steel baton with a linen napkin, tucked it back into his jacket, and grabbed Luca’s dark wool overcoat from a nearby chair.

"Hold him here," Luca commanded the remaining guards in the room, slipping his arms into the heavy coat. "If he wakes up and makes a sound, break his jaw."

Luca turned to me, the lethal intensity in his dark eyes softening just a fraction.

"Stay with Emily," Luca said, his voice dropping to a calm, reassuring register. "Lock the study door. Do not let her look out the window. I am bringing Michael back."

"Yes, Mr. Moretti," I nodded, my voice shaking.

I turned and ran back down the long hallway, slipping into the study where Emily was curled on the sofa, sobbing quietly. I locked the heavy oak door and sat beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling shoulders.

"He’s going to get him, Emily," I whispered, holding her tight. "Your dad is going to save him."

Outside the mansion, the heavy rain had turned into a torrential downpour.

Through the thick velvet curtains, I couldn't see anything, but my imagination painted terrifying pictures of the standoff at the front gates.

"I shouldn't have come tonight," Emily wept, burying her face in her hands. "If I had just stayed home, Michael would be safe. They wouldn't have known about the watch."

"You did the right thing," I argued gently. "If you hadn't come, your father would have married Vanessa. She would have destroyed this family from the inside. You saved him, Emily."

She shook her head, unable to find comfort while the father of her child was kneeling in the rain with a gun to his head.

Five agonizing minutes passed in absolute silence.

Then, a sudden, deafening roar erupted from the front of the estate.

It wasn't gunfire.

It was the sound of tearing metal and screeching tires, followed immediately by a massive, booming explosion that shook the floorboards of the study.

Emily screamed, covering her ears.

"What was that?!" she cried.

I didn't answer. I cautiously pulled back the edge of the velvet curtain, just an inch, and peered out into the rainy night.

The scene at the front gates was a nightmare bathed in orange firelight.

One of the black Bellini SUVs was completely engulfed in flames, rammed against the heavy iron gates. The explosion had blown the gates wide open, scattering the Bellini enforcers.

But they weren't scattering because of the fire.

They were scattering because they were being hunted.

I saw Marco moving through the rain like a phantom. He didn't use a gun. He moved with terrifying, lethal precision, taking down two armed guards in a span of five seconds using hand-to-hand combat, disappearing back into the shadows before the others could even aim their weapons.

But my eyes frantically searched for Luca and Michael.

Through the smoke and the pouring rain, I saw them.

Luca was standing in the center of the driveway, illuminated by the burning SUV. He held a heavy assault rifle, completely exposed, providing covering fire.

And crouching behind the shattered remains of a stone pillar, dragging a terrified, zip-tied Michael to safety, was another man.

I squinted, trying to recognize the figure. He was tall, wearing a dark trench coat, moving with military precision.

"Emily," I gasped, stepping back from the window. "There’s someone else out there helping your dad."

"Who?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Before I could guess, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket again.

I yanked it out. It was a text message from an unknown number.

Tell Luca the package is secure. Meet at the extraction point.

I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. "The package is secure. They got Michael."

Emily let out a loud, breathless sob of relief, collapsing back onto the sofa.

The heavy oak door of the study suddenly rattled as someone tried the handle.

"Claire, open the door!" Luca’s voice yelled from the hallway.

I scrambled to the door, throwing the deadbolt and pulling it open.

Luca stood there, completely soaked in rain and soot, breathing heavily. But he wasn't alone.

He reached behind him and pulled Michael into the room.

The young schoolteacher was shivering violently, his clothes torn and muddy, a bruised cut on his cheek. But his hands were free, and he was alive.

"Michael!" Emily screamed, pushing herself off the sofa despite her heavy stomach.

She practically flew across the room, throwing her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Michael held her tight, sobbing quietly, collapsing to his knees under the sheer weight of relief.

"I’m sorry," Michael wept, holding her face in his muddy hands. "I’m so sorry, Em. They just grabbed me from the parking lot."

"It’s okay, you’re safe," Emily cried, kissing his bruised cheek again and again. "You’re safe now."

I looked at Luca, expecting to see a victorious mafia boss.

Instead, I saw a man whose face was completely drained of color, his dark eyes wide with a terrifying realization.

"Mr. Moretti?" I asked softly, stepping closer to him. "What’s wrong? You got him back."

Luca didn't look at me. He stared down at the gold pocket watch he was still clutching tightly in his left hand.

"Vanessa wasn't at the gates," Luca whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused. "She called me from the gates."

"She wasn't there, Claire," Luca repeated, looking up at me, pure panic finally breaking his stoic facade. "The men holding Michael were mercenaries. Hired guns. Vanessa sent them to distract me."

"Distract you from what?" Emily asked, looking up from Michael’s embrace, sensing the sudden shift in the room.

Luca looked back down the long hallway, toward the dining room where he had left Arthur Bellini.

"She didn't want the watch," Luca deduced, the horrifying truth clicking into place. "She knew I wouldn't trade Michael for the watch. She wanted me out of the house. She wanted me to leave Arthur alone."

Before any of us could process what he was saying, a single, muffled gunshot echoed from the direction of the dining room.

Luca didn't hesitate. He sprinted down the hallway, drawing his sidearm.

I ran after him, my heart in my throat.

We burst through the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room.

The two guards Luca had left to watch Arthur were lying unconscious on the marble floor.

And Arthur Bellini... was still sitting in his chair.

But he wasn't breathing.

A single bullet hole marked the center of his forehead.

Standing over him, holding a suppressed silver pistol, was Vanessa.

She had changed out of her torn red gown into a sleek black tactical suit. Her hair was pulled back tightly. She didn't look like a terrified fiancée anymore. She looked like an executioner.

When she saw Luca enter, she didn't raise her gun to fire at him.

She simply smiled, a cold, empty expression that chilled me to the bone.