**THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO SEND HIS 72-YEAR-OLD ADOPTIVE MOTHER HOME BEFORE THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN I WALKED HER INTO THE DINING ROOM CARRYING A DENTED YELLOW LUNCHBOX, LUCA MORETTI LEFT HIS CHAIR, WRAPPED HIS ARMS AROUND HER, AND WHISPERED, “MOM, WHO TOLD YOU YOU WEREN’T FAMILY?”**

I slammed my foot on the brake just as Vanessa sprinted in front of the headlights.

She held the yellow lunchbox high above her head like a peace offering, her red satin gown stained with soot and mud.

“I have the box!” Vanessa cried out again, shivering in the cool night air. “Marcus wanted the lunchbox, right? Here it is! Just let me go, Paulie. Let me go to my father!”

Paulie didn’t lower the shotgun. He glared at her through the glare of the SUV’s headlights. His shoulder was wrapped in a bloody cloth where Luca’s bullet had grazed him.

“You think I give a damn about a dented lunchbox, princess?” Paulie spat. “Marcus wants the old lady dead. He wants the loose end tied up.”

Vanessa froze. “But… my father said—”

“Your father is an idiot who thought he could play both sides,” Paulie sneered. He took a step toward the SUV. “Toss the box on the ground and step aside, Vanessa. You’re not my target.”

Inside the car, Ruth let out a quiet, hopeless sob. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I brought this on you.”

“No,” I said, my hands gripping the leather steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “We aren’t dying tonight.”

I looked at the heavy, bulletproof glass of the windshield. I looked at the reinforced steel bumper of the SUV. Luca had paid a fortune to armor this vehicle against ambush.

Paulie pumped the shotgun. “Step out of the car, Claire! Bring the old lady out, or I start shooting!”

Vanessa dropped the lunchbox onto the gravel and scrambled out of the way, cowering behind a stone pillar.

“Hold on tight, Mrs. Ellis,” I whispered.

I threw the SUV into drive and slammed my foot onto the gas pedal.

The heavy vehicle lurched forward with a roar.

Paulie’s eyes went wide. He fired the shotgun point-blank. The buckshot slammed into the windshield, but the bulletproof glass merely spider-webbed, absorbing the impact completely.

Before Paulie could pump the gun again, the SUV’s steel bumper clipped his side.

He was thrown hard onto the gravel, crying out as he rolled into the manicured hedges.

I didn’t stop. I steered the SUV down the long, winding driveway, bursting through the heavy iron security gates that Paulie’s men had left open. The tires squealed as I swerved onto the main road, leaving the burning mansion behind us.

Ruth was trembling violently in the passenger seat, staring at the spider-webbed glass. “You hit him. Oh my god, Claire, you hit him.”

“He was going to kill us,” I said, my voice shaking with pure adrenaline. I checked the rearview mirror. No headlights were following us yet.

“The lunchbox,” Ruth cried suddenly, her hands flying to her empty lap. “Vanessa took it. Claire, the ticket was in there!”

“I know,” I said, keeping my eyes on the dark road. “But the ticket only proves you were there. It doesn’t prove Marcus killed Elena. The only thing that proves that is in the Union Station locker. And Luca went back for the key.”

“He’s going to die in that fire,” Ruth sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “I’ve killed my boy.”

“Luca is a survivor,” I told her fiercely, though a cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. “He survived the streets. He survived Marcus once. He’ll survive this.”

I drove fast, sticking to the back roads, avoiding the main highways where Marcus might have police on his payroll watching for this exact vehicle. I aimed for downtown Chicago. The 15th Precinct was the only place Luca said we could trust Captain Miller.

My phone buzzed in my apron pocket.

I fished it out and hit the speaker button. “Luca?”

“Claire.” It wasn’t Luca.

The voice was smooth, cultured, and devoid of any human empathy.

It was Marcus Thorne.

My blood ran cold. “How did you get this number?”

“I have people everywhere, Miss Dawson,” Marcus said calmly. Over the line, I could hear the faint sound of classical music playing in the background. “I understand you took my vehicle. And you have my loose end sitting next to you.”

“She has nothing to do with this anymore,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “The police are already on their way to the house.”

“The fire department is on their way,” Marcus corrected gently. “The police will arrive much later. Thanks to Paulie, I am fully aware of what transpired tonight. Vanessa has been recovered, along with a rather charming yellow lunchbox. She told me about the ticket.”

Ruth gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“But Vanessa also told me a very interesting story about a rosary,” Marcus continued. The amusement in his voice vanished, replaced by a chilling edge. “A rosary with a hidden compartment.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, housekeeper. I know Luca went back inside for it. Which means he knows about the locker.”

“He’ll get there before you,” I bluffed.

Marcus let out a soft chuckle. “Will he? Because right now, Luca is standing in the grand hallway of his burning house, entirely surrounded by my men. He fought bravely, I’m told. But he is currently on his knees, with a gun to his head.”

My heart stopped. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

There was a scuffle on the other end of the line. A heavy thud, followed by a familiar, agonized groan.

“Claire.” It was Luca. His voice was ragged, weak, and coughing on smoke.

“Luca!” Ruth screamed at the phone. “Luca, my baby!”

“Mom, don’t… don’t come back here,” Luca gasped.

The phone was yanked away. Marcus’s voice returned.

“Here is the deal, Miss Dawson. I want the key to the Union Station locker. But since Luca claims he couldn’t find the rosary in the smoke, I am at an impasse.”

Marcus paused, letting the silence hang heavily in the air.

“Bring Ruth to Union Station. Right now,” Marcus demanded. “She knows which locker it is. She knows how to open it. If she retrieves the documents for me and hands them over, I will let Luca walk out of that burning house alive. If you refuse, or if you call the cops… I will let Paulie put a bullet in his skull and leave him in the ashes.”

“You’ll kill him anyway!” I yelled.

“I am a businessman,” Marcus said coldly. “I want the shipyard deed. Once I destroy it, Luca’s birthright is gone, and he is no longer a threat to me. You have thirty minutes to get to the main terminal of Union Station. Come alone with the old woman. Or I kill the son she sacrificed everything for.”