**THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS 78-YEAR-OLD MOTHER WALK INTO HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER HOLDING AN EMPTY RED DOG LEASH, HER SLIPPERS SOAKED FROM THE RAIN—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE RAN OUT THROUGH THE SIDE GATE,” BEFORE LUCA EVEN ASKED WHERE HIS LATE FATHER'S OLD DOG HAD GONE.**

Two weeks later.

The chaos had finally settled, leaving behind a profound, uneasy quiet in the city of Chicago.

Marco Moretti was sitting in a federal supermax prison, awaiting trial for treason and attempted murder. Agent Reynolds had been arrested by his own agency, exposed by the very man he thought he was manipulating.

My father.

Thomas Bennett sat in a sterile hospital bed in a secure federal wing, looking paler and older than I had ever seen him. He had actually needed a minor heart procedure, which he had used as the perfect cover for his federal negotiation.

I stood at the foot of his bed, my arms crossed, feeling entirely emotionally detached from the man who had raised me.

Emily sat in a chair by the window, refusing to look at him.

“You look well, Claire,” my father croaked, trying to offer a warm smile. It fell entirely flat.

“Don't,” I said coldly. “Don't pretend we’re a normal family checking in on you.”

My father sighed, looking down at his trembling hands.

“I did what I had to do to protect you girls,” he said softly.

“You lied to us for twenty years,” Emily snapped from the window, her voice shaking with anger. “You washed money for the mafia while Claire scrubbed their toilets!”

“I did it so you wouldn't be targets!” my father argued, his voice gaining a bit of strength. “If the Commission knew I had daughters, they would have used you as leverage. I kept you poor and ignorant so you would be safe.”

“You threw Teresa Moretti under the bus to get immunity,” I stated, ignoring his justifications. “You told the FBI she ordered the hits seven years ago.”

My father looked away, shame finally creeping into his eyes.

“It was the only way Reynolds would grant the immunity deal,” he admitted. “I knew Antonio was alive. I knew he was hiding in the crypt. But if I exposed Antonio, the Commission would have slaughtered us all. I had to give them a scapegoat.”

“So you chose an old woman,” I said in disgust.

“She isn't an innocent old woman, Claire,” my father warned, looking back at me. “Teresa Moretti is just as ruthless as her husband. She knew what she was doing when she married into that family.”

“Where is she?” I demanded.

My father shook his head. “I don't know. After the raid at the cemetery, the FBI Director took over. The charges against Luca were dropped due to Reynolds’ corruption, but Teresa and Antonio vanished into federal custody.”

I turned and walked toward the door.

“Claire, please,” my father called out. “I love you girls. Everything I did, I did for you.”

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.

“If you truly loved us,” I said without looking back, “you wouldn't have let me work in that house.”

I walked out, Emily following closely behind me.

We left the hospital and stepped out into the crisp, autumn air.

A sleek, black town car was waiting at the curb.

Daniel, Luca’s head of security, was standing by the rear door. He opened it respectfully as we approached.

“Mr. Moretti is waiting for you at the estate, Miss Bennett,” Daniel said.

I nodded, sliding into the leather interior.

The drive back to the mansion was quiet. The massive iron gates swung open, revealing the pristine, imposing structure of the Moretti home. It looked exactly the same as it had two weeks ago, completely unbothered by the violence that had taken place inside its walls.

I walked into the grand foyer.

Luca was waiting for me.

He was wearing a simple dark sweater and slacks, looking rested and incredibly handsome. The heavy burden of his father’s ghost and his brother’s betrayal seemed to have finally lifted from his shoulders.

He smiled as I approached, wrapping me in a warm, familiar embrace.

“How was the hospital?” Luca asked softly, kissing the top of my head.

“He’s recovering,” I said, leaning into his chest. “But he’s not my father anymore. Not really.”

Luca kissed my forehead. “You have a family here, Claire. Whenever you’re ready.”

He took my hand and led me toward the downstairs sitting room.

“There’s someone here who wants to see you,” Luca said, a mysterious glint in his eye.

I frowned, following him into the room.

Sitting in the plush armchair by the fireplace, sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea, was Teresa Moretti.

And resting his gray muzzle comfortably on her knee, fast asleep, was Walter.

“Teresa!” I gasped, rushing forward.

The old woman smiled warmly, setting her teacup down and opening her arms. I hugged her tightly, tears of relief pricking my eyes.

“How are you here?” I asked, pulling back. “My father said you vanished into federal custody!”

Teresa chuckled, a dry, knowing sound.

“I was in federal custody, sweetheart,” Teresa said, gently stroking Walter’s head. “But when the FBI Director realized Agent Reynolds had orchestrated the entire raid illegally, and that the only evidence against me was the testimony of a confessed money launderer... the charges didn't stick.”

She looked up at Luca, a profound pride in her eyes.

“And it helped that my son hired the most expensive defense attorneys in the country.”

Luca smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “I couldn't let them take my mother.”

“What about Antonio?” I asked quietly, hesitant to bring up the ghost.

Teresa’s smile faded slightly, but she didn't look entirely heartbroken.

“Antonio made a deal,” Teresa explained. “He agreed to give the FBI the location of Carlo Bellini’s remaining loyalists in exchange for serving his sentence in a white-collar federal facility. He won't ever come home. But he won't be hunted anymore, either.”

She looked down at Walter.

“We’re finally at peace, Claire.”

I sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at the matriarch, the mob boss, and the old dog who had inadvertently saved us all.

It felt like a happy ending.

But as I reached down to scratch Walter behind the ears, my fingers brushed against his thick leather collar.

I paused.

I had sliced his old collar open two weeks ago to destroy the SD cards.

This collar was brand new.

I looked closely at the shiny brass buckle.

Tucked neatly underneath the leather strap, completely hidden from casual view, was a small, tightly folded piece of heavy parchment paper.

I looked up.

Teresa was watching me, her eyes sharp and completely unreadable.