THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME STRUGGLE TO CARRY HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH ONE ARM PRESSED AGAINST MY RIBS—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL IN THE SERVICE COURTYARD,” BEFORE HE HAD EVEN ASKED WHY I COULDN’T STAND STRAIGHT. Four more steps.

The drive to the West Side was a blur of neon streetlights and blinding rain.

I sat in the passenger seat of Luca’s armored SUV, staring numbly at the dashboard.

The man I had helped in the alley eleven years ago.

The dead cartel boss.

My father.

And Mark, my sweet, ordinary husband who complained about his back hurting after changing tires… had worked for him. Had hidden millions of dollars in a wooden rosary.

Everything my life was built on was a lie.

"Breathe, Emily," Luca said, his deep voice cutting through the panic spiraling in my chest. His large hand reached across the console, his thumb lightly grazing my freezing knuckles. "Don't spiral. Stay with me."

"How could I not know?" I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "Mark and I were married for five years. We shared a bank account. We fought about the grocery bill. How could he have a microchip in his car and I never knew?"

"Because he loved you," Luca said gently, keeping his eyes on the wet road. "If he told you, you became an accessory. He kept you in the dark to keep you alive. That’s what men in this life do."

"And your mother?" I looked at him, feeling a sudden flare of anger. "She killed him to keep me alive, too?"

Luca’s jaw tightened. "I don't know what my mother did. But I swear to God, Emily, if she gave the order to kill your husband, I will not protect her from the consequences."

It was a heavy, terrifying vow from a mafia boss.

He pulled the SUV to a sudden stop.

We were parked outside the rusted chain-link gates of the abandoned shipyard. The wind howled off the Chicago River, carrying the smell of wet metal and decay.

Warehouse 4 stood at the end of the pier, its large corrugated doors slightly ajar, leaking a sliver of harsh yellow light onto the wet concrete.

Luca unbuckled his seatbelt. He checked the magazine of his gun, then looked at me.

"Stay in the car. The doors will automatically lock when I close them. They are bulletproof."

"I’m not staying here," I said, reaching for the handle. "He wants me. That’s why he took her."

"I am not letting you walk into a cartel execution, Emily!"

"He's my father!" I shouted, the words tearing out of my throat, raw and strange. "If he wants his locket, he can have it. But I need to know why Mark died."

Luca stared at me, seeing the absolute defiance in my eyes. He realized he couldn't stop me without tying me down.

"Stay exactly behind me," he ordered.

We stepped out into the freezing rain.

The pain in my ribs was a dull roar now, numbed by adrenaline. We walked silently toward the cracked warehouse door.

Luca pushed it open with his shoulder, his weapon drawn.

Inside, the warehouse was cavernous, filled with empty shipping containers.

At the center, beneath a single swinging work light, sat Eleanor Moretti.

She was tied to a wooden chair, her elegant grey hair damp, her designer coat ruined. But she wasn’t crying. She sat perfectly straight, her chin lifted in absolute defiance.

Standing across from her was a man in a black trench coat.

He was older, his hair completely white, leaning heavily on a cane. When he turned his head, the scarred, weathered profile matched the tiny photograph inside my locket perfectly.

Marco Falcone. He was alive.

"Let her go," Luca’s voice echoed through the warehouse, his gun leveled directly at Marco’s chest.

Marco slowly turned. He didn't look scared of the weapon. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face.

"Luca Moretti. You grew up. You look just like your father."

"And you look like a dead man," Luca replied coldly. "Step away from my mother."

"I didn't bring her here to hurt her, boy," Marco rasped, leaning on his cane. "I brought her here for a reunion. She and I have unfinished business."

His eyes shifted past Luca.

They landed on me.

For a second, the hardened cartel boss vanished, replaced by genuine, naked shock.

"Emmeline," he whispered.

My real name. The name on the back of the photograph.

I stepped out from behind Luca, my hands trembling as I unclasped the silver locket from my neck. It dangled from my fingers, catching the harsh overhead light.

"Is this what you want?" I asked, my voice cracking. "You killed my husband for a microchip, and now you want this back?"

Marco’s face fell. He took a staggering step forward.

"Killed your husband? Emmeline, no."

Reversal.

"Don't lie to her!" Eleanor Moretti suddenly shouted from her chair, her voice echoing violently off the steel walls. "Tell her the truth, Marco! Tell her what you did to her mother!"

"Shut up, Eleanor!" Marco roared back.

But Eleanor wasn't finished. She looked at me, her eyes filled with desperate, furious tears.

"He didn't kill your husband, Emily. Marco didn't kill Mark."

Luca frowned, keeping his gun steady. "Mom, what are you talking about? Vanessa said you ordered the hit."

Eleanor let out a bitter, broken laugh. "Vanessa is an idiot who read half a file in my safe. I didn't order the hit on Mark. I paid Mark to run away!"

I froze. "What?"

"I gave him the microchip," Eleanor cried, struggling against her ropes. "I gave him the Falcone ledger so he could buy new identities for you and Leo. He was trying to get you out of Chicago!"

"Out of Chicago from who?" I screamed.

"From me," a new voice echoed from the shadows of the warehouse.

Footsteps clicked against the concrete.

A man stepped into the yellow light. He was wearing a sharp, tailored suit.

It was Daniel. Luca’s head of security.

And he was holding his gun pointed directly at the back of Luca’s head.

"Drop it, Boss," Daniel said flatly.