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 room spun violently.

I gripped the edge of the mattress, my knuckles white, staring at the smoking gun in Eleanor’s hand.

Luca was on his feet instantly. He moved in front of me and Leo, placing his body between us and his mother.

"Mom," Luca said, his voice dangerously low. "Put the gun down. Now."

Eleanor didn’t lower the weapon. She stepped into the room, kicking the heavy oak door shut behind her. Her hands were shaking, but her eyes were perfectly clear.

"I had to stop him, Luca," she whispered, tears spilling down her bruised cheeks. "Daniel had men inside the house. Sleeper guards. They just tried to breach the west wing."

"I'll handle them," Luca said, reaching for his own holster. "Give me the gun."

"No!" Eleanor cried out. "You don't understand. They aren't here for you. They’re here for her." She pointed the barrel of the gun at the floor, looking directly at me.

"Me?" I breathed, clutching the marriage certificate. "Because of this? Because Lorenzo was my father?"

Eleanor let out a bitter, heartbroken sob.

"Lorenzo wasn't just your father, Emily. He was the only man I ever truly loved."

Reversal.

My mind struggled to process the tangled web of lies.

"If Lorenzo was my father," I said slowly, looking at Luca, "and you loved him... then who is Luca's father?"

Eleanor looked at her son. The proud, untouchable mafia boss who had ruled Chicago with an iron fist for a decade. The man who believed his entire life was built on Moretti blood.

"Marco Falcone," Eleanor whispered.

The silence in the bedroom was absolute. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Luca stepped back, hitting the edge of the nightstand. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated shock.

"What?"

"It's the truth," Eleanor cried, leaning against the doorframe. "Thirty years ago, the Falcone and Moretti families were at war. Marco Falcone captured me. I was a prisoner for six months. When Lorenzo finally rescued me... I was pregnant."

She looked at Luca, her heart breaking in front of us.

"Lorenzo knew you weren't his. But he raised you anyway. He loved you, Luca. He made you his heir. But Marco... Marco never stopped looking for his true son."

The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity.

Marco Falcone hadn't come to Chicago tonight looking for his daughter.

He had come looking for his son.

And the "daughter" he had claimed to love—me—was actually the child of his greatest rival.

"Then why did Marco give me this box?" I asked, holding up the wooden heirloom. "Why did he give me the deed to his empire?"

"He didn't give it to you to bless you, Emily," Eleanor said, wiping her face. "He gave it to you to put a target on your back. By handing you the Falcone empire, he made you the supreme enemy of every cartel boss on the East Coast. He’s using you as bait so Luca can step up and take his rightful place without opposition."

Luca stared at his hands. The hands that had fought, bled, and killed for the Moretti name. A name that didn't even belong to him.

"Everything," Luca whispered, his voice shattering. "My whole life is a lie."

I stood up, ignoring the burning pain in my ribs, and walked over to him. I didn't care about the cartels. I didn't care about the empires. I cared about the man who had just risked his life to save my son.

I reached out and grabbed his hand.

He looked at me, his dark eyes swirling with a terrifying storm of identity crisis and rage.

"You are Luca Moretti," I said fiercely, squeezing his fingers. "You are the man who put his coat over my freezing child. You are the man who fought for my husband’s honor. Blood doesn't make a boss, Luca. Actions do."

Luca stared at me. The storm in his eyes slowly settled, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve.

He looked at his mother. "How many men are left in the house?"

"Three," Eleanor said, gripping the gun. "They barricaded the main hall. They’re waiting for Marco’s orders."

Luca reached into his jacket and pulled out his weapon. He checked the slide.

Then, he looked at me.

"Lock this door," Luca commanded. "Do not open it for anyone but me."

"Where are you going?" I asked, panic rising again.

"To finish this," Luca said. "Marco Falcone wants his son back? I’m going to go introduce myself."

He opened the bedroom door.

But as he stepped into the hallway, a heavy object was thrown into the corridor, skittering across the hardwood floor and stopping at Luca’s boots.

It was a severed silver chain.

Attached to it was the matching half of the falcon crest locket.