THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME REFUSE TO REMOVE AN EMPTY CHAIR FROM HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL IN THE OLD GREENHOUSE,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY MY NECK WAS BRUISED. “Take that chair away, Madison.”

Luca stared at Margaret Whitfield in the sterile lighting of the care facility.

“A son?”

Margaret nodded, her frail hands trembling as she clutched the edge of her blanket.

“She brought him to my house six years ago. She was young, desperate, and asked for money. She said the boy’s father had abandoned them.”

Luca felt a cold knot form in his chest.

Vanessa had told him she had never been in a serious relationship before him. She claimed she couldn't have children. It was one of the reasons she had insisted on a lavish, overwhelming wedding—to make up for the family they would never build.

“Where is the boy now?” Luca asked, his voice deathly quiet.

Margaret shook her head, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks.

“I don't know. Isabella found out about him shortly before she died. Your mother hired a private investigator, Luca. That’s why she left me the key to the safety-deposit box. She said if Vanessa ever tried to trap you, I was to show you the photograph.”

Luca looked down at the small silver key in his palm.

It felt incredibly heavy.

“Daniel,” Luca said, not turning around.

His head of security stepped into the room.

“Sir?”

“I want a private nursing staff hired for Margaret tonight. Move her to the penthouse at the Drake Hotel. No one knows she’s there. Especially Vanessa.”

“Understood.”

Luca kissed Margaret’s forehead.

“You’re safe now. I promise.”

He walked out of the facility, the anger in his blood completely masking the cold Chicago air.

When he arrived back at the estate, the engagement dinner was over.

The caterers were cleaning the dining room.

Vanessa was sitting in the main living room, sipping a glass of wine, her red silk gown draped elegantly over the sofa.

When she saw him, she smiled warmly.

“Darling, where did you go? You missed the champagne toast.”

Luca didn't smile.

He walked slowly into the room.

“I went for a drive.”

Vanessa sighed, setting her glass down.

“Well, the evening was ruined anyway. I can't believe Margaret didn't show up. And that clumsy maid... Madison, was it? We really must fire her tomorrow. She’s an absolute liability.”

Luca studied his fiancée’s beautiful, lying face.

“She fell in the greenhouse, you said?”

Vanessa waved a dismissive hand.

“Yes. Tripped right over a hose. It was pathetic.”

Luca didn't say another word. He turned and walked upstairs to the master suite.

He didn't know where Vanessa was hiding the child. But if she had brought Margaret’s handbag to the greenhouse, she had been panicked.

He walked into Vanessa’s private dressing room.

He bypassed her jewelry boxes and expensive shoes, dropping to his knees to pull out the bottom drawer of her antique vanity.

It was locked.

Luca reached into his pocket, pulled out his pocket knife, and forced the fragile lock open.

Inside was a stack of bridal magazines, a velvet pouch, and a crumpled piece of paper.

He smoothed the paper out on the vanity.

It was a child's drawing.

Crayon on cheap construction paper. It showed a large, imposing house with black gates. And in the corner, a small stick figure of a boy with dark hair.

But it was the words written at the bottom that made Luca’s blood run cold.

Help me.

The handwriting belonged to a child. But the location was undeniable. It was a drawing of his own estate.

“Mr. Moretti?”

Luca turned.

Madison was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, holding a stack of clean towels. Her neck was still visibly bruised.

She saw the drawing in his hands and froze.

Luca stood up slowly.

“Madison. Have you seen this drawing before?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the hallway.

“No, sir.”

“Do not lie to me,” Luca said softly. “You saw something in the greenhouse today. It wasn't Margaret falling. What did Vanessa do to you?”