THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME WALK INTO HIS LUXURY HOTEL'S GRAND OPENING CARRYING A PAIR OF WORN BROWN WORK BOOTS AGAINST MY CHEST—THEN HIS BUSINESS PARTNER, WEARING A RED SATIN GOWN, SAID

The lobby spun.

I stared at the grainy photograph on the marble floor.

Dr. Richard Evans. The same pediatric specialist who had been treating my younger brother, Leo, for the past four years.

The same doctor who told me Leo’s mysterious autoimmune condition was untreatable, forcing me to pay thousands of dollars out-of-pocket for "experimental" medications every month.

"Hannah?" Luca’s voice broke through my panic. He was looking at me, his dark brows knitted in concern. "Do you know this man?"

My chest tightened. It was hard to breathe.

"He's my brother's doctor," I choked out, tears instantly springing to my eyes. "He's the reason I work so many shifts. The medical bills... he said Leo would die without the treatments."

The entire lobby went dead silent.

Even Mia looked up at me, sensing the profound shift in the air. She reached out from under my oversized cardigan and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly.

Luca stared at the photograph. He looked at the date stamp.

"August 14th," Luca whispered. "The night Sarah died."

He slowly raised his eyes to Catherine.

Catherine was backing away toward the front doors, her face a mask of sheer terror. The arrogance was completely shattered. She looked like a trapped animal.

"You didn't just pay him to hide the baby," Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm. "Sarah was healthy. The pregnancy was perfect. Until Dr. Evans gave her that injection."

"I didn't tell him to kill her!" Catherine screamed, her voice cracking hysterically. "I only paid him to induce early labor! I needed the baby born while you were out of town so I could handle the paperwork!"

The confession hung in the air, toxic and heavy.

She hadn't meant to kill Sarah. But her greed had triggered the hemorrhage that took my boss's wife's life.

Luca closed his eyes. A single tear escaped, sliding down his cheek.

When he opened his eyes again, the grief was gone. Only vengeance remained.

"Security," Luca commanded, not raising his voice, but speaking with an authority that shook the room.

The two guards who had followed us instantly stood at attention.

"Lock the doors," Luca ordered. "Nobody leaves this building until the police arrive. If she tries to run, break her legs."

The guards didn't hesitate. They moved swiftly to the grand brass entrance doors, sliding the heavy deadbolts into place.

Catherine fell against the reception desk, weeping loudly, clutching her red gown.

But my mind was racing.

If Catherine had paid Dr. Evans to fake medical records for Mia...

If she had paid him to induce labor...

What was Dr. Evans doing to my brother?

"Mr. Moretti," I panicked, grabbing Luca's sleeve. I didn't care about propriety anymore. "My brother. Leo is at St. Jude's right now. Dr. Evans is on shift tonight. If he finds out Catherine is caught, he might run. He might hurt Leo to cover his tracks!"

Luca didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second.

He turned to his mother. "Mom, take Mia upstairs to the penthouse. Lock the doors. Do not open them for anyone but me."

Eleanor nodded fiercely, scooping Mia up into her arms despite her frail age. "I've got her, Luca. Go."

Luca turned back to me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing a number rapidly.

"We aren't waiting for the police," Luca said, grabbing my hand.

His grip was warm, strong, and surprisingly gentle.

"Come with me," he said.

We ran out the side exit of the lobby, into the private parking garage.

Luca’s black Mercedes SUV was parked near the elevator. He unlocked it, threw the passenger door open for me, and jumped into the driver's seat.

"Daniel," Luca spoke into the Bluetooth system as the engine roared to life. "I need a full extraction team at St. Jude's hospital in five minutes. Dr. Richard Evans. Detain him by any means necessary."

He slammed the SUV into gear, and we tore out of the garage, the tires screaming against the concrete.

The drive through the rainy Chicago streets was a blur.

My heart battered against my ribs. I kept imagining Leo in his hospital bed, pale and weak, trusting the man who was secretly destroying our family.

"Why would Catherine want to keep my brother sick?" I cried, wiping tears from my face. "We don't have any money. We don't have shares in the hotel. It doesn't make sense!"

Luca gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

"Answer one, open two," Luca muttered, his eyes fixed on the wet road. "Catherine doesn't do anything without a financial motive, Hannah. Your family has something she wants. Or something she needed to keep hidden."

We arrived at St. Jude's in less than ten minutes.

Luca threw the SUV into park in the ambulance loading zone. He didn't even turn off the engine.

We sprinted through the sliding glass doors into the brightly lit emergency room lobby.

Three large men in dark suits—Luca’s private security team—were already waiting by the elevators.

"He's on the fourth floor, Boss," the lead security man said. "Pediatric Intensive Care."

We crowded into the elevator. The numbers ticked up agonizingly slowly.

When the doors opened on the fourth floor, I bolted down the hallway.

"Leo!" I shouted, ignoring the startled nurses.

I reached Room 412 and pushed the heavy door open.

My breath caught in my throat.

Leo, my twelve-year-old brother, was asleep in the bed, hooked up to a dozen monitors.

And standing over him, holding a syringe filled with clear liquid, was Dr. Evans.

"Get away from him!" I screamed, lunging into the room.

Dr. Evans spun around, dropping the syringe in shock. It shattered on the linoleum floor.

Before he could speak, Luca stepped into the room.

The mafia boss aura that Luca usually kept hidden was fully unleashed. The sheer menace rolling off him made the air in the room feel heavy.

Dr. Evans backed away until he hit the window.

"Mr. Moretti," the doctor stammered, raising his hands. "What is the meaning of this?"

Luca walked forward slowly.

He didn't yell. He didn't threaten.

He simply reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the photograph from the cornerstone.

He held it up so the doctor could see it.

Dr. Evans' face drained of blood. His knees buckled slightly.

"Catherine is in custody," Luca lied flawlessly, his voice like ice. "She gave you up. She told the police everything about Sarah. And she told them what you're doing to this boy."

Dr. Evans began to shake violently.

"I didn't have a choice!" the doctor pleaded, crying openly. "Catherine found out about my gambling debts. She threatened to ruin my career!"

"What did you do to my brother?" I demanded, stepping forward, my fists clenched.

Dr. Evans looked at me, shame and terror warring in his eyes.

"He doesn't have an autoimmune disease, Hannah," the doctor confessed, his voice breaking. "I’ve been giving him low doses of immunosuppressants. Just enough to keep him weak. Just enough to keep you paying the bills."

A wave of pure nausea hit me.

Years of watching my brother suffer. Years of scrubbing floors on my hands and knees. All manufactured by a greedy doctor.

"Why?" I sobbed. "Why us?"

Dr. Evans pointed a shaking finger at me.

"Because Catherine needed you trapped," the doctor whispered. "She needed you working at the hotel, where she could watch you. Because she knows who your parents really were."

I froze.

"My parents died in a car crash when I was eighteen," I said.

Dr. Evans shook his head.