**THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME GATHER THIRTY-SEVEN WOODEN BEADS FROM THE MARBLE FLOOR AFTER HIS TEN-YEAR-OLD SON'S FIANCÉE CUT THE BRACELET OFF HIS WRIST DURING THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN SHE SAID, “HE BROKE IT BECAUSE HE WANTS YOU TO FEEL GUILTY,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE LITTLE BOY WAS COUNTING EVERY BEAD AND WHISPERING, “I WAS SAVING THE LAST ONE FOR DADDY.”**

The revelation hit me like a physical blow.

"Vanessa was pregnant three years ago?" I stammered, looking at the plastic test taped to the child’s drawing. "But... you and Elena were still married."

Luca stood up slowly, keeping Mason tucked safely against his side. The mafia boss looked completely shattered.

"I had an affair," Luca confessed, his voice thick with shame. He didn't look at me; he looked down at the grass. "It lasted two months. It was a terrible, unforgivable mistake. I ended it. I told Vanessa I chose my wife, my son, my family."

"And a week later, Elena was killed in the crash," I realized, the pieces finally snapping together in horrifying clarity.

"Vanessa didn't just kill Elena to merge our families," Luca said, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. "She killed her because she thought if Elena was gone, I would marry her, and our illegitimate child would inherit the Moretti empire."

"What happened to the baby?" I asked softly.

"She miscarried," Luca said hollowly. "Two months after Elena died. But she kept the test. She kept it in the vault as a trophy. A reminder of why she orchestrated the murder."

He looked at the dead body of Patricia lying in the hedges. His men were finally waking up, groaning and stumbling out of the house, drawing their weapons as they realized they had been drugged.

"Vito!" Luca roared, his grief violently transforming into rage.

Vito stumbled across the lawn, looking horrified. "Boss, I swear, the coffee—"

"Secure the perimeter!" Luca barked. "Clean this up. Nobody leaves. Nobody enters."

He turned to me. "Where is Michael? My men couldn't find him at the safe house."

The memory of the phone call crashed back into my mind. I covered my face with my hands, a sob escaping my throat.

"They killed him, Mr. Moretti. The Bellinis found him. He called me right before it happened."

Luca’s face softened slightly. "Melissa, I am so sorry."

"Before he died," I sniffled, wiping my eyes, "he told me something. He said Vanessa paid him to cut the brakes, but she didn't act alone. He said there was a traitor."

Luca froze. "A traitor? Inside my family?"

"Yes. Someone who wanted Elena dead because she was planning to take Mason and run away."

"Elena wasn't running away," Luca said fiercely. "She loved me."

"Michael said he had proof. He said he took a diary from Elena’s car right before the police arrived three years ago. He hid it to use as blackmail."

Luca grabbed my shoulders. "Where is it?"

"He buried it in the greenhouse behind the old Rossi garage."

Luca didn't hesitate. He looked at Vito. "Put ten men on Mason. Lock him in the panic room. Melissa, you're coming with me."

Ten minutes later, we were tearing through the streets of Chicago in Luca’s bulletproof SUV. The city blurred past the tinted windows. I sat in the passenger seat, my hands folded tightly in my lap, staring at the three wooden beads on my wrist.

We arrived at the Rossi garage in the industrial district. It was abandoned, boarded up after the fire that had killed my father years ago. Behind the blackened brick building stood a rusted, glass-shattered greenhouse.

Luca kicked the chain-link gate open. He drew his weapon, sweeping the area. "Clear."

We walked into the overgrown greenhouse. Dead vines hung from the shattered roof.

"Where would he hide it?" Luca asked.

I looked around, trying to think like my brother. Michael was lazy, but he was clever. He wouldn't dig a deep hole. He would put it somewhere obvious but unreachable.

My eyes landed on a massive, cracked terracotta planting pot in the corner, filled with dried, dead soil.

I walked over and dug my hands into the dirt.

A foot down, my fingers brushed against something wrapped in thick plastic.

"I found it," I gasped.

I pulled out a heavy bundle wrapped in garbage bags and duct tape. Luca took a pocket knife and sliced it open.

Inside was a small, red leather journal. The edges were singed from the car fire, but the pages were intact.

Luca’s hands shook as he opened his late wife's diary.

He flipped to the final entry, dated the day before she died.

I watched his eyes scan the page. I watched a man lose the last piece of his heart.

"What does it say?" I whispered.

Luca didn't speak. He handed the diary to me.

I read Elena’s elegant handwriting:Luca broke my heart. I know about the affair with Vanessa. But that isn't why I have to leave. I can forgive infidelity. I cannot forgive what his father is planning. The Old Man thinks Luca is becoming too soft. He wants to take Mason and raise him in Sicily, to mold him into a ruthless boss. I heard him on the phone. He said if I try to stop him, he'll have me removed. I have to take Mason and run tomorrow. I just pray Luca forgives me.

I gasped, looking up at Luca.

"My father," Luca whispered, staring at the wall. "My own father helped Vanessa kill my wife."

The Old Boss. Don Antonio Moretti. He had stepped down five years ago, handing the empire to Luca, but he still controlled the older captains.

"He wanted Mason," Luca said, his voice echoing in the empty greenhouse. "He thought Elena was making him weak. So he let Vanessa cut the brakes. He sacrificed the mother of my child to secure the bloodline."

Suddenly, the sound of a heavy diesel engine rumbled outside the greenhouse.

Tires crunched on gravel.

Doors slammed.

"Well, well," a raspy, ancient voice called out from the courtyard. "I always knew Michael Carter’s little sister would lead us to the book."

Luca stepped in front of me, raising his weapon.

Standing in the courtyard, surrounded by fifteen armed men, was Don Antonio Moretti. Luca’s father.