**THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME CATCH A HEAVY SILVER SERVING TRAY AS HIS 78-YEAR-OLD MOTHER COLLAPSED TO HER KNEES AT HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE INSISTED ON HELPING THE SERVANTS. SHE USED TO WAIT TABLES, REMEMBER?” BEFORE LUCA EVEN ASKED WHY HIS MOTHER WAS WEARING A WHITE APRON OVER HER EVENING DRESS.**

The sheer, suffocating weight of Julian’s threat crushed the air out of the room.

Four minutes.

Luca didn't flinch. The gun in his hand remained perfectly level, aimed directly at Julian's heart.

"You're bluffing," Luca said coldly. "If you blow the gas lines, you die too."

"I have an exit route," Julian smiled, tapping the silver watch against his palm. "You don't. Hand me the photograph, Luca. I'll disable the timer, and we can negotiate."

From the closet, I watched Luca’s face. He wasn't negotiating. He was calculating.

"Mom," Luca said, his voice loud and clear, echoing through the room. "Hannah. Come out of the closet."

Teresa trembled beside me, refusing to move. I took a deep breath, grabbed her hand, and pushed the closet door open.

We stepped out into the bedroom. Teresa kept her head down, refusing to look at the man who wore her dead husband's face.

Julian’s eyes swept over me dismissively before landing on Teresa. "Teresa. You look old."

Teresa flinched, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"Shut your mouth," Luca snapped, taking a step closer to his uncle. He didn't look at us, but his orders were precise. "Hannah, take my mother out the back service stairs. Go to the garage. Get in my black SUV and drive through the gates. Don't look back."

"I'm not leaving you, Luca!" Teresa cried, trying to run toward him.

I grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back. "Mrs. Moretti, we have to go!"

"Nobody is leaving until I get the picture," Julian warned, raising his hand toward his pocket again.

"Take the picture!" Luca roared, throwing the glossy photograph onto the bed.

Julian immediately lunged for it.

It was the mistake Luca had been waiting for.

Luca didn't shoot. He crossed the distance between them in two massive strides, swinging the heavy butt of his handgun in a vicious arc.

The metal connected with Julian's jaw with a sickening crack.

Julian stumbled backward, completely disoriented, dropping the silver watch.

"Go!" Luca screamed at me.

I didn't hesitate. I threw my arm around Teresa's waist, practically carrying her out of the shattered doorway. We stumbled over Daniel, the head of security, who was groaning on the floor in the hallway, holding a bleeding head wound.

"Daniel, get up!" I yelled, pulling him by his suit jacket. "Bomb! We have three minutes!"

The word 'bomb' acted like adrenaline. Daniel scrambled to his feet, staggering but focused. He grabbed his radio. "Evacuate the house! All staff, all security, out the back doors now!"

We ran toward the back service stairs. The mansion was chaotic. Alarms began to blare. Maids and kitchen staff were sprinting down the hallways, panic echoing off the marble floors.

I practically carried Teresa down the narrow servant's staircase, her evening gown dragging on the steps.

"Luca!" Teresa sobbed, looking back up the stairs. "We have to wait for Luca!"

"He's right behind us," I lied, praying I was right.

We burst through the heavy fire doors into the underground garage. The smell of exhaust and expensive leather filled the air.

I found Luca's black SUV. I opened the back door and pushed Teresa inside. Daniel jumped into the driver's seat, hitting the ignition. The massive engine roared to life.

"Wait!" I yelled, refusing to close my door. "Luca isn't here!"

"I can't wait!" Daniel shouted over the engine, shifting into gear. "The timer!"

Before he could hit the gas, the heavy fire doors of the garage burst open.

Luca sprinted through, breathing heavily. He wasn't alone. He was dragging Julian by the collar of his expensive suit, tossing him roughly onto the concrete floor of the garage.

Luca jumped into the passenger seat of the SUV. "Drive!"

Daniel slammed the gas pedal. The heavy SUV launched forward, tearing out of the garage and speeding up the long, winding driveway toward the front gates.

I looked out the back window.

Julian was scrambling to his feet in the garage, pulling a small detonator from his pocket.

"He has the detonator!" I screamed.

"Brace yourselves!" Luca ordered.

We hit the open road just as the timer expired.

The explosion was deafening. The ground beneath the SUV shuddered violently as a massive shockwave ripped through the night air.

I looked back in horror.

The dining room of the Moretti mansion—the room where twenty-eight guests had been sitting just an hour ago—erupted into a towering pillar of orange fire. The explosion blew the windows out, raining shattered glass and flaming debris across the manicured lawn.

Teresa screamed, covering her face as the home she had built with her husband burned.

Daniel slammed on the brakes outside the front gates, keeping a safe distance from the inferno.

We sat in the SUV in stunned, terrified silence, the only sound the roaring of the flames and the distant wail of approaching sirens.

Luca turned around in the passenger seat. His face was covered in soot, and his knuckles were bleeding.

He looked at his mother. "Are you okay, Mom?"

Teresa nodded, weeping silently.

Then, Luca looked at me. "Hannah. Thank you."

I swallowed hard, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "Is everyone out?"

"Daniel cleared the staff," Luca said grimly. "But Dominic Bellini and his family were still in their cars near the front when it blew."

He turned back to the windshield, watching his house burn.

"Julian is dead," Daniel said quietly from the driver's seat. "He was still in the garage when the gas lines blew."

Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the glossy photograph. He hadn't left it on the bed. He had tricked Julian into diving for a fake.

"Julian wasn't acting alone," Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal register. "Dominic Bellini thought he was setting me up. But he just started a war he can't win."

Luca flipped the photograph over.

On the back, written in elegant, feminine handwriting, were three words.

For Vanessa's Dowry.

"Dominic didn't orchestrate this," Luca whispered, realizing the horrific truth. "Vanessa did. She knew about the bomb. She was supposed to get the picture from Julian and leave me to burn."

My blood ran cold. Vanessa Bellini hadn't just been a cruel, entitled fiancée. She was a murderer.

"Where did the Bellini cars go?" Luca asked Daniel.

"They turned north," Daniel replied. "Toward the harbor."

Luca’s jaw clenched. "They're going to the shipping yards to regroup."

He looked at the photograph one last time, then tucked it away.

"Drive north, Daniel," Luca ordered. "We aren't waiting for the police."

But as Daniel shifted the SUV into gear, a heavy, metallic thump hit the roof of the car.

We all jumped.

Daniel looked in the rearview mirror, his face draining of color.

"Boss," Daniel choked out. "Julian isn't dead."

I twisted around in my seat and screamed.

Standing on the back bumper of the moving SUV, his suit charred and smoking, his face twisted in absolute madness, was Julian Moretti.