THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME STRUGGLE TO WHEEL HIS FIANCÉE’S $40,000 WEDDING GOWN INTO THE DINING ROOM—THEN SHE SAID, “SHE FELL AT THE FRONT GATE,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY MY STOCKING WAS COVERED IN BLOOD. Four more steps.

The silence in the grand foyer was absolute, broken only by the sound of the rain lashing against the massive front windows.

Luca stood over the red high heel, his jaw locked in a tight, furious line.

Clara hadn't just run. She had been taken. Or she had left the map as a breadcrumb.

"Daniel," Luca ordered, his voice echoing off the marble. "Get a team to the West Side Shipyard. Now."

"Boss, it’s a trap," Daniel warned through the earpiece. "If the Moranos are involved, they’re baiting you."

"I don't care," Luca snapped, snatching the map from the shoe. "They have Lucy. I’m not leaving her with them."

He didn't wait for backup. Luca sprinted to the garage, throwing himself into the driver’s seat of a black, armored Dodge Charger. He hit the ignition, the engine roaring to life, and tore out of the estate, smashing through the damaged service gates.

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

Luca’s mind raced, piecing together the horrifying puzzle.

Clara had stolen Vanessa’s identity. But how did she finance the deception? How did she hire a fake family? How did she integrate herself so perfectly into Chicago high society?

She didn't do it alone.

She had backing.

And if the Morano crest was on Lucy’s locket...

Luca gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

He arrived at the shipyard twenty minutes later. The place was a sprawling, rusted graveyard of shipping containers and massive, decaying cranes.

The rain was torrential now, washing away visibility.

Luca killed the headlights and cut the engine, coasting silently into the shadows of a towering warehouse. He stepped out, the heavy metal of his gun a familiar weight in his hand.

He moved like a ghost through the containers, his senses dialed to the maximum.

Then, he heard it.

A sharp, terrified scream.

Luca’s blood ran cold. He sprinted toward the sound, rounding a massive stack of blue shipping crates.

At the center of a floodlit clearing stood Clara’s 'father'—the older man who had toasted them hours ago. He was holding an umbrella, looking completely calm.

And tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the freezing rain was Lucy.

She was soaked. Her black maid’s uniform clung to her shivering frame. The cut on her leg was bleeding freely now, the rain washing the blood down her shin.

But it wasn't Clara’s fake father that made Luca stop dead in his tracks.

Standing behind Lucy, holding a hunting knife to her throat, was Clara.

Reversal.

Clara hadn't been kidnapped by her fake father. She was working with him.

"Drop the gun, Luca!" Clara yelled over the rain, the elegant fiancée completely replaced by a ruthless, desperate operative. "Drop it, or I swear I’ll open her throat!"

Luca stepped into the light. He didn't lower his weapon. He aimed it directly at the space between Clara’s eyes.

"You're a Morano," Luca said smoothly, his voice cutting through the storm.

The older man chuckled, stepping forward. "Not quite, Moretti. We work for the Moranos. Clara was a long-term investment. Eight years of grooming, identity theft, and careful placement, all to get her a ring on her finger."

"And once we were married?" Luca asked, not taking his eyes off Clara.

"Once you were married," Clara spat, "you were going to have a tragic accident on our honeymoon. And as your grieving widow, I would have inherited fifty percent of the Moretti empire. A silent takeover by the Moranos."

"It was a perfect plan," the older man sighed. "Until Margaret showed up. And until this stupid maid got in the way."

Lucy was sobbing quietly, her eyes locked on Luca. She looked terrified, but she wasn't begging.

"Let her go, Clara," Luca said, his finger tightening on the trigger. "She has nothing to do with this."

"She knows too much!" Clara screamed. "She saw me with Margaret! She knows I’m a fraud!"

"I already know you're a fraud!" Luca roared back. "I have Margaret. I have the proof. Killing Lucy doesn't save you!"

Clara’s hand trembled, the knife pressing dangerously close to Lucy’s skin. "If I bring her body to the Moranos, they’ll know I tried to fix it. They won't kill me for failing."

Luca realized Clara was terrified of her own bosses. She was a cornered rat.

"I can protect you from them," Luca lied smoothly, stepping closer. "Let the girl go, Clara. You walk away."

Clara hesitated.

In that split second, Lucy did something incredibly stupid and incredibly brave.

She threw her head back, smashing her skull directly into Clara’s nose.

Clara screamed, dropping the knife and stumbling backward, blood pouring from her face.

The older man raised his gun.

Luca fired twice.

The man dropped to the wet concrete before he even pulled the trigger.

Clara scrambled for the knife, but Luca was already there. He kicked the blade away and slammed Clara against the shipping container, pressing his forearm against her throat.

"You're done," Luca snarled.

He didn't wait for her to respond. He delivered a swift, brutal strike to the side of her head. Clara crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Luca immediately dropped to his knees beside Lucy.

He ripped the ropes binding her wrists and pulled her into his arms. She collapsed against his chest, sobbing violently, her freezing hands gripping his suit jacket.

"I got you. I got you," Luca murmured, wrapping his coat around her shivering shoulders.

He picked her up effortlessly, ignoring the blood soaking into his expensive clothes, and carried her back to the Charger.

He placed her in the passenger seat, turning the heat on full blast.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, his hands gently inspecting her neck where the knife had been.

Lucy shook her head, her teeth chattering. "I'm okay. But... Mr. Moretti..."

"Call me Luca," he said softly.

"Luca," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "They didn't bring me here just to kill me."

Luca frowned. "What do you mean?"

Lucy reached into the pocket of her soaked uniform. She pulled out a small, child’s drawing. It was crumpled and wet.

"They found this in my locker," Lucy said, her voice breaking. "Clara saw it. That’s why she kidnapped me. She said... she said if the Moranos see this drawing, they’ll start a war."

Luca took the drawing.

It was a stick figure of a woman holding a little boy’s hand.

But drawn above them, in bright blue crayon, was the unmistakable crest of the Morano family.

Luca looked at the twenty-seven-year-old maid.

"Lucy," Luca asked quietly. "Where did you get this?"