THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME STRUGGLE TO ROLL A MASSIVE WEDDING PORTRAIT INTO HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE HURT HER SHOULDER IN THE CARRIAGE HOUSE,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I COULDN’T LIFT MY ARM.

Luca immediately stepped in front of me, shielding me from the doorway.

"Take Toby to the panic room," Luca ordered Daniel. "Now."

Daniel nodded and sprinted up the stairs.

Luca reached under the mantelpiece and retrieved a loaded pistol. He checked the chamber and slid it into the back of his waistband.

"Stay behind me, Claire," he said, walking toward the grand foyer.

I didn't stay behind him. I had Moretti blood in my veins, and I was done hiding.

I walked out beside him as the massive front doors were pushed fully open.

Don Falcone stepped into the marble entryway, flanked by six heavily armed enforcers. He brushed snow from his dark wool overcoat, his eyes cold and calculating.

"You ignored my summons, Luca," Falcone said, his gravelly voice echoing off the high ceilings. "So we brought the meeting to you."

"I gave you my answer yesterday, Falcone," Luca said, standing tall, exuding the absolute authority of a Don. "I will not marry your daughter. My territory is secure. If you want war, you can have it."

Falcone’s enforcers shifted, their hands hovering over their weapons.

"You are young, Luca. You think love makes you invincible," Falcone sneered. "But the rules of La Cosa Nostra are older than your blood. You cannot refuse a Commission mandate and keep your life."

Falcone gestured, and his men drew their guns, pointing them directly at Luca's chest.

My breath caught. Luca didn't even flinch.

"Wait!" I shouted, stepping forward, pushing past Luca's arm.

Falcone looked at me, mildly amused. "The housekeeper. The lost Moretti niece. You have spirit, girl, but you have no power here."

"I have this," I said.

I reached beneath the collar of my sweater and pulled out my mother’s rosary—the one Vanessa had stolen, which Daniel had recovered from her hotel suite on the night of her arrest.

I held the dark wooden beads and the silver cross up to the chandelier light.

Falcone’s eyes locked onto the rosary.

His amusement vanished instantly. His face went completely slack.

"Where did you get that?" Falcone whispered, taking a hesitant step backward.

"It was my mother's," I said, holding it steady. "Elena Moretti."

Falcone shook his head slowly. "Elena Moretti wore gold. That rosary... that is the mark of the Sicilian Ghost. The exiled Matriarch who ruled the old country before we ever set foot in America."

"My mother didn't just flee the family to become a nurse," I said, my voice gaining strength as the pieces of my mother's secret life finally clicked together. "She left to hide the ultimate authority. She was the Ghost."

Falcone stared at me. The enforcers looked confused, but they kept their guns raised.

"If she was the Ghost," Falcone said, his voice trembling slightly, "then you are the true Heir. You outrank the entire Commission."

"Drop your weapons," I commanded, projecting every ounce of my mother’s hidden strength.

For a agonizing second, no one moved.

Then, slowly, Falcone lowered his hand. His men holstered their guns.