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 the heavy parchment.

The seal at the bottom was official, notarized over twenty-five years ago.

“What is it?” Madison asked, wiping her eyes as she stood up.

Luca handed her the paper.

“It’s a deed to a property in upstate New York. Near the Finger Lakes.”

Madison read the name on the document.

Owner: Thomas Reed. Beneficiary: Madison Reed.

“Isabella bought a house for Thomas?” Madison whispered.

“She bought him a sanctuary,” Elizabeth corrected softly from her wheelchair. “A beautiful farmhouse with no stairs, designed specifically for him. She wanted him to have a place of peace, far away from Chicago and the violence of the Morettis.”

“Did he ever live there?” Luca asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. “He refused. He said he couldn't leave the city where he met her. The house has been empty for nearly thirty years.”

Luca looked at his sister.

“Pack a bag,” he said, a rare, genuine smile crossing his face. “We’re going to New York.”

Two days later, Luca’s private SUV drove up a long, winding gravel driveway surrounded by towering, fiery autumn trees.

Madison sat in the passenger seat, Leo asleep in her lap.

The property was breathtaking. A massive, sprawling single-story farmhouse wrapped in wide wooden porches, overlooking a crystal-clear lake. It was quiet, peaceful, and completely untouched by the darkness of their past.

Luca parked the car.

He took Leo from Madison’s arms so she could walk freely.

Madison walked up the wooden steps, her hand trembling as she pushed the heavy oak door open.

The air inside smelled faintly of cedar and dust. The furniture was covered in white sheets, perfectly preserved.

It was a home waiting to be lived in.

Madison walked through the wide hallways, her fingers trailing along the beautifully carved wooden trim. Everything was designed with accessibility and comfort in mind. It was a physical manifestation of her mother’s love for a man she couldn't be with.

Luca walked into the main living room, carrying a sleepy Leo.

He stopped in front of the massive stone fireplace.

Above the mantle hung a large, oil-painted portrait.

Madison gasped when she saw it.

It wasn't a painting of Isabella. It was a painting of a young, handsome man with kind eyes, sitting in a wheelchair, holding a medical book.

“My father,” Madison whispered, tears spilling down her face.

Luca stood beside her. “She made sure he was the center of this house, even if he never saw it.”

Madison turned to Luca.

“I don't want to go back to Chicago, Luca. I don't want the empire. I don't want the money or the estate.”

Luca looked at her, understanding completely.

“You don't have to,” he said gently.

“I want to stay here. With my mother. With Leo. I want to raise him where it’s safe.”

Luca smiled, a heavy weight lifting from his own shoulders.

“Then this is your home, Madison. I will handle the business. I will make sure the Moretti name is legitimized, completely severed from the underworld. And I will make sure no one ever bothers you again.”

Madison hugged him, burying her face in his chest.

“You’re a good man, Luca. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

As they broke apart, Leo rubbed his eyes and pointed toward a corner of the living room, partially obscured by a white sheet.

“Look,” the little boy mumbled.