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 rain hammered against the rusted tin roof of the abandoned steel mill, a deafening drumbeat that matched the frantic pounding of my heart.

I stared through the armored windshield at the man approaching our trapped SUV.

Uncle Thomas.

He didn't look like a man who had drowned in Lake Michigan a decade ago. He looked impeccably groomed, wearing a bespoke suit that cost more than I made in five years, moving with a confident, arrogant grace.

"He's dead," Emily whimpered from the backseat, clutching Michael’s arm so tightly her knuckles were white. "Dad identified the body. I went to the funeral."

"He didn't die, Emily," I whispered, my mind racing as the horrifying puzzle pieces began to snap together. "He faked his death. He’s been operating in the shadows for ten years."

Thomas stopped three feet from the hood of the car. He looked directly at Emily through the reinforced glass, his smile widening into something cold and predatory.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, remote device. He pressed a button.

The electronic locks on the SUV clicked, disengaging.

"Step out, Emily," Thomas’s voice echoed through the cavernous mill, amplified by a small microphone clipped to his lapel. "You and your charming fiancé. The maid can stay in the car."

"Don't do it, Emily," I hissed, grabbing the door handle. "If we stay inside, the armor will protect us until Luca finds us."

"Luca isn't coming, Claire," Thomas chuckled, hearing me through the car’s external audio receiver. "He’s currently sitting in an interrogation room at the 15th Precinct, explaining to the police why two bodies are cooling on his dining room floor. He’ll be tied up in legal red tape for at least twenty-four hours. By then, this will all be over."

Emily swallowed hard, her eyes filled with a terrifying resolve. She wasn't just a scared pregnant woman anymore; she was a Moretti, and her survival instincts were kicking in.

"I’m going out," Emily said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Emily, no!" Michael protested, grabbing her hand.

"If we don't go out, he’ll find a way to breach the car," Emily reasoned quietly, her voice trembling but firm. "I know my uncle. He doesn't make a move without overwhelming leverage. I have to see what he wants."

She opened the heavy door and stepped out into the damp, chilly air of the steel mill. Michael followed immediately, standing protectively between her and Thomas.

I didn't stay in the car. I couldn't. I grabbed a heavy metal flashlight from the center console and slipped out of the driver’s side door, keeping my distance, ready to use it if I had to.

"Uncle Thomas," Emily said, her voice echoing in the vast space. "Why? Why did you do this? Why did you pretend to be dead?"

Thomas sighed, a long, dramatic sound of feigned exhaustion.

"Because your father is a stubborn, traditional fool, Emily," Thomas said, pacing slowly in the spotlight. "When Maria died, Luca refused to modernize the family’s operations. He refused to heavily invest in the pharmaceutical trades. He wanted to keep the Moretti empire focused on real estate and construction. It was pathetic."

"So you faked your death to start a rival operation?" Michael guessed, his voice tight with anger.

"I faked my death because Luca would have killed me if he knew I was selling our shipping routes to the Russians," Thomas corrected smoothly. "I needed to disappear so I could build my own network, untethered by his archaic rules. And it worked beautifully. Until Vanessa got greedy."

I frowned, stepping closer. "Vanessa was working for you?"

Thomas glanced at me, annoyed by the interruption but too arrogant to stop talking.

"Vanessa was a useful idiot," Thomas sneered. "She thought she was playing the ultimate long game by marrying Luca. But she found out about the terminal cancer six months ago. She realized she wouldn't live long enough to inherit the empire. So, she came to me."

"She blackmailed you," I realized aloud.

"She tried," Thomas chuckled. "She demanded a massive payout to ensure her father, Arthur, would be financially ruined, securing her own twisted revenge against him for being a terrible parent. She agreed to execute him tonight in exchange for the transfer of funds to an offshore account she set up for an anonymous beneficiary."

"And you paid her," Emily said, disgusted. "You paid a dying woman to execute her own father in our dining room, just to frame Luca."

"It was a masterstroke, really," Thomas beamed proudly. "With Luca in federal custody for a double homicide, the Commission will be forced to name an interim boss. And since Nico is gone, and you’re just a pregnant civilian... the legal control of the Moretti shipping yards defaults to the next of kin listed in Maria’s original, unamended will."

He paused, letting the devastating truth sink in.

"Me."

My blood ran ice cold.

The entire conspiracy, the hostage situation, the murder-suicide—it was all a beautifully orchestrated legal maneuver to legally steal the most valuable real estate in Chicago right out from under Luca’s nose.

"You’re a monster," Emily spat, tears of pure hatred in her eyes. "My dad will prove he didn't shoot them. He has Marco. He has cameras."

"I wiped the cameras," a new voice echoed from the shadows.

I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.

Stepping out from behind a rusted steel pillar, holding a suppressed submachine gun, was Marco.

Luca’s head of security. The man who had seemingly saved us an hour ago.

"Marco?" Emily gasped, taking a stumbling step backward, grabbing Michael’s arm. "What... what are you doing?"

Marco didn't look at her. His scarred face was a mask of cold, emotionless stone. He walked over and stood dutifully at Thomas’s right shoulder.

"Marco is a pragmatist, Emily," Thomas smiled, patting the enforcer’s arm. "He saw the writing on the wall. He knew Luca’s empire was crumbling. He simply chose the winning side. He’s the one who gave me access to the car’s remote driving system."

I stared at Marco, the betrayal hitting me like a physical blow. He had protected us at the gates, fought Arthur’s men, and helped us escape.

But then I remembered the text message I received in the study.

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

"It was you," I whispered, pointing the flashlight at Marco. "You sent me that text. You didn't rescue Michael from Vanessa’s men to save him. You rescued him because Thomas needed him alive to control Emily!"

Marco finally looked at me, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his dark eyes. "I’m sorry, Claire. But this is business."

"Enough talking," Thomas interrupted impatiently. He pulled a thick stack of legal documents from his coat pocket and tossed them onto the hood of the SUV. "Sign them, Emily."

Emily stared at the papers. "What is that?"

"It’s a formal relinquishment of all your inherited shares in the Moretti holding company, transferring them directly to me," Thomas explained. "Sign it, and I will let you and your teacher walk out of this warehouse alive. You can go to California. Have your baby. Live a quiet life."

"And if I don't sign?" Emily asked, her chin trembling, but her posture remaining defiant.

Thomas sighed, pulling a sleek, silver handgun from his waistband.

"If you don't sign," Thomas said, aiming the gun directly at Michael’s chest, "I shoot the father of your child right now. And then I’ll have Marco force your hand to sign it anyway."

"No!" Emily screamed, throwing herself in front of Michael.

"Sign the papers, Emily," Thomas commanded, cocking the hammer of the pistol. "You have ten seconds."

I stood by the driver's door, my mind racing frantically. Marco had a submachine gun. Thomas had a pistol. We were completely trapped.

But as I looked at Marco, I noticed something strange.

His finger wasn't resting on the trigger of his weapon. It was resting on the safety switch, pressing it rapidly, silently clicking it back and forth.

Click. Click. Click.

It was a nervous habit I had seen him do a hundred times when he was agitated at the mansion.

But he wasn't looking at the gun. He was looking directly at me.

And then, very subtly, Marco shifted his eyes toward the heavy, rusted electrical breaker box mounted on the brick wall just three feet behind Thomas.

I understood instantly.

"Five seconds, Emily," Thomas warned, stepping closer.

I didn't hesitate. I raised the heavy metal flashlight in my hand, aimed it not at Thomas, but at the rusted breaker box behind him, and threw it with all my strength.

The heavy metal cylinder sailed through the air and smashed directly into the glass face of the breaker box.

Sparks exploded in a brilliant, blinding shower of blue electricity.

The massive spotlight illuminating the warehouse died instantly, plunging us into pitch-black darkness.