THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS FIANCÉE ORDER ME TO REMOVE MY SHOES IN FRONT OF TWENTY-SIX DINNER GUESTS—THEN SHE SAID, “SHE STEPPED ON BROKEN GLASS IN THE GUESTHOUSE,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I WAS LEAVING BLOODY FOOTPRINTS.

The flashing red and blue lights painted the walls of the grand foyer.

"Stay here," Luca commanded Caroline, his voice tight. "Do not let them see you with that briefcase."

Caroline nodded, quickly sliding the heavy leather case back under the mahogany dining table. She grabbed her cane, her knuckles white.

Luca strode out of the dining room just as the heavy oak front doors were shoved open.

A dozen federal agents in tactical gear poured into the foyer, their weapons drawn but lowered. Behind them walked a tall, sharp-featured man in a cheap gray suit. Special Agent Thomas Vance.

Luca had dealt with Vance before. The man had made it his life's mission to destroy the Moretti family, just as he had destroyed Luca's father twelve years ago.

"Good evening, Luca," Agent Vance said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket. "Lovely night for a wedding rehearsal."

"Get out of my house, Thomas," Luca said smoothly, slipping his gun back into his holster. "Unless you have a warrant to back up this home invasion."

Vance smiled, a cold, empty expression. He held up the paper.

"I have a federal warrant for your arrest, Mr. Moretti," Vance announced, his voice echoing in the massive entryway. "Charges include racketeering, extortion, and conspiracy to commit murder."

Daniel, flanked by six of Luca’s armed guards, stepped forward, their hands resting on their weapons. The tension in the room skyrocketed. One wrong move, and the foyer would become a slaughterhouse.

"Stand down, Daniel," Luca ordered quietly. He knew a shootout with the FBI would be the end of his empire.

He turned to Vance. "Conspiracy to commit murder? Who exactly am I supposed to have conspired against?"

Vance’s smile widened. "A man named Julian Bellini. We found his body an hour ago in a downtown parking garage. Two bullets to the back of the head. Execution style."

Luca froze.

Julian was dead?

The man who had betrayed his father, kidnapped his sister, and taken the Russian payout was dead.

"I didn't kill Julian," Luca said, his mind racing.

"Of course not," Vance mocked. "You just had a very public falling out with his sister, cancelled your engagement, and magically, Julian turns up dead. The District Attorney is very confident. Turn around, Luca."

Two agents stepped forward with handcuffs.

Luca didn't resist. He put his hands behind his back, his dark eyes locking onto Daniel.

"Daniel," Luca said softly, speaking in rapid Sicilian. "Proteggi la ragazza e la bambina. Nessuno entra nella stanza sicura." (Protect the girl and the child. No one enters the safe room.)

Daniel gave a sharp nod. "Sì, capo."

"And Daniel?" Luca added, switching back to English, looking toward the dining room doors. "Make sure the staff is sent home safely. All of them."

It was a clear message to protect Caroline.

"Let's go," Vance snapped, pushing Luca toward the door.

As the FBI hauled the most powerful man in Chicago out into the rain, Caroline stood trembling in the shadows of the dining room.

She had heard everything. Julian was dead. Luca was being framed.

And she was standing next to a briefcase containing a quarter of a million dollars in marked Russian syndicate money.

The heavy dining room doors creaked open.

Caroline spun around, gripping her cane like a weapon.

Daniel stepped inside. He closed the doors quickly behind him.

"Caroline," Daniel said, his rough voice surprisingly gentle. "You need to leave. The Feds are going to sweep this house. If they find that briefcase, they'll tie the Russian money to Luca. It will guarantee a conviction."

"I can't just leave him to take the fall!" Caroline whispered fiercely. "Vanessa was the one with the money! Vanessa killed her own brother to silence him before he could expose her to Luca!"

Daniel sighed, rubbing a massive hand over his face. "Vanessa is locked in the wine cellar. But we can't prove she killed Julian. Not tonight. Right now, I need to get you out of here."

"No," Caroline said firmly.

Daniel blinked. "What?"

"If I leave with the money, I look guilty," Caroline reasoned, her mind working furiously. "But if I hide the money somewhere the FBI will never find it, we can use it later to prove Vanessa’s connection to the Russians."

"There is nowhere in this house the FBI won't search," Daniel said grimly.

"Yes, there is," Caroline replied. "I'm a housekeeper, Daniel. I know every inch of this estate. I know spaces the architects didn't even put on the blueprints."

She reached under the table and dragged the heavy briefcase out.

"Help me carry this," she ordered.

Daniel hesitated, then grabbed the handle. "Where are we going?"

"To the old laundry chute in the east wing," Caroline said, limping forward on her cane. "It was boarded up five years ago. It drops straight into the sub-basement between the walls. They’ll never find it."

They hurried through the dark, opulent hallways of the mansion, avoiding the front foyer where federal agents were already shouting orders.

They reached the east wing. Caroline pushed aside a heavy tapestry, revealing a small, painted-over wooden door in the wall.

With a hard kick, Daniel shattered the brittle wood.

Caroline shoved the heavy briefcase into the dark hole. It fell with a muffled thud into the darkness below.

"Done," Caroline breathed.

"Now you need to go," Daniel insisted, taking her arm. "I have a car waiting out back."

But as they turned to leave, a cold, familiar voice echoed from the end of the hallway.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Caroline froze.

Standing in the shadows, holding a suppressed pistol aimed directly at Daniel’s chest, was Mrs. Carter. The head housekeeper.

"Mrs. Carter?" Caroline gasped. "What are you doing?"

The older woman didn't look like the strict, orderly manager who had scolded Caroline for wrinkled napkins just hours ago. She looked cold, calculating, and absolutely lethal.

"I'm cleaning up a mess, Caroline," Mrs. Carter said smoothly. "Vanessa was supposed to handle Luca tonight. But since she failed, the syndicate activated me."

Daniel stepped in front of Caroline, shielding her with his massive body. "You’ve been working for the Russians."

"For ten years," Mrs. Carter smiled, a chilling expression. "Julian Bellini was a fool. He thought he was playing the Russians, but they were playing him. They used him to kill the old Don, and they used me to keep an eye on Luca. And now, I’m going to make sure Luca goes to federal prison for the rest of his life."

She raised the gun, aiming it at Daniel’s head.

"Move away from the girl, Daniel," Mrs. Carter ordered. "I need her to confess to planting the Russian money for Luca."

"Go to hell," Daniel growled.

Mrs. Carter’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Caroline didn't think. She reacted.

She gripped her heavy wooden medical cane with both hands, swung it back like a baseball bat, and brought it smashing down onto the hallway fire alarm pull-station.

The glass shattered.

Instantly, deafening sirens blared through the mansion. Strobe lights flashed, plunging the hallway into chaotic, blinding bursts of light.