THE MAKEUP BENEATH THE LIES

Luca pulled back from me, the soft tenderness in his eyes instantly hardening back into the cold, calculated stare of the boss.

“The police?” Luca asked, stepping up to the open driver’s window. “Why are the police at my gates?”

Daniel listened to the phone for a few seconds, his face turning grim. He hung up and looked at Luca.

“It’s Detective Reynolds from Homicide,” Daniel said. “He has a warrant. They found David Collins, the photographer.”

My stomach dropped. “Found him? Is he hurt?”

“He’s dead, Anna,” Daniel said flatly. “They found his body in an alley downtown an hour ago. He was shot twice in the chest. And someone anonymously sent the police a digital folder containing the fake abuse photos Vanessa forced him to take.”

Luca’s jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.

“Vanessa,” Luca breathed, realizing exactly what she had done before fleeing the warehouse.

“She triggered the failsafe,” Daniel confirmed. “She killed the only witness who could prove the photos were staged, leaked the images to the cops, and framed you for murder and domestic abuse to cover her escape. Reynolds wants to take you in for questioning.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. Vanessa was a cornered animal, and she had just thrown a grenade over her shoulder as she ran. If Luca was arrested for murder, the Commission would see him as weak and vulnerable. The fragile peace he had just secured would shatter into a bloody turf war by nightfall.

“Boss, we can’t go back to the estate,” Marco said, stepping out of the second SUV. “If they arrest you now, Bellini’s loyalists will use the chaos to strike. We need to go to ground. A safe house.”

“No,” Luca said, shaking his head. “If I run, it proves I’m guilty. I’m not hiding.”

“But you don't have an alibi for the time of the murder!” Marco argued. “You were here, dealing with Bellini. You can’t exactly tell the cops you were busy at a mafia shootout on the South Side.”

Luca looked at me, then at the two sleeping children in the backseat. He couldn't go to prison. He was the only thing standing between Leo and a life on the run.

“I have an alibi,” I said quietly, stepping forward.

Luca frowned. “Anna, what are you doing?”

“I was with you,” I lied, my voice steadying as I met his dark eyes. “I was cleaning your study. You were there the entire morning, going over wedding contracts. We didn't leave the house until Daniel called about an emergency at the warehouse.”

“Anna, perjury is a felony,” Luca warned softly, stepping closer to me. “If Reynolds breaks your story on the stand, you go to prison.”

“He won't break my story,” I said firmly. “I’m a maid. I’m invisible. They won't look twice at me. It’s the only way to keep you out of handcuffs long enough to find Vanessa and prove she did it.”

Luca stared at me, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what I was willing to risk for him. He reached out, gently cupping my cheek with his large, warm hand.

“You are terrifyingly brave,” Luca murmured.

“I’m learning from the best,” I replied, leaning into his touch.

Twenty minutes later, the armored SUVs pulled through the massive iron gates of the Moretti estate.

Four black-and-white police cruisers were parked in the circular driveway. Detective Reynolds, a tired-looking man in a wrinkled trench coat, was standing on the front steps, flanked by uniform officers.

Luca stepped out of the SUV, adjusting his suit jacket, projecting an aura of absolute, unbothered calm.

I stepped out behind him, keeping my head down, playing the part of the timid housekeeper perfectly. Daniel quietly ushered Lily and Leo through a side entrance, keeping the children out of sight.

“Mr. Moretti,” Reynolds said, stepping off the porch. “I need you to come down to the precinct. We have some questions about a photographer named David Collins.”

“I don't know anyone by that name, Detective,” Luca lied smoothly.

“Really? Because we have digital evidence placing him in your fiancée’s bridal suite yesterday afternoon,” Reynolds countered, holding up a tablet displaying one of the fake abuse photos. “And we have photos showing your fiancée covered in bruises. Care to explain?”

“My fiancée is currently in Europe on a pre-wedding spa retreat,” Luca said without missing a beat. “If she was bruised, it certainly wasn't by my hand. I suggest you check the authenticity of those photos.”

Reynolds scoffed. “We will. But right now, you need an alibi for the time of Mr. Collins’s murder, which occurred between 8:00 AM and 9:00 AM this morning. Where were you?”

“He was with me, Detective.”

I stepped out from behind Luca’s broad shoulders, clutching my injured arm in its sling.

Reynolds looked at me, his eyes narrowing as he took in my ruined maid’s uniform and the dark bruise on my cheek from where Vanessa had slapped me.

“And who are you?” Reynolds asked.

“Anna Mitchell. I’m the head housekeeper for the east wing,” I said, keeping my voice soft and deferential. “Mr. Moretti was in his study all morning. I was polishing the bookshelves. He didn't leave the room until ten-thirty.”

Reynolds stared at me, looking for a crack in the lie. “If he was in his study, how did you get that bruise on your face, Ms. Mitchell?”

My heart hammered, but I didn't flinch.

“I bumped into a wardrobe while cleaning the bridal suite yesterday,” I said, repeating the exact lie Vanessa had told at the dinner party. “It was very clumsy of me.”

Reynolds frowned, clearly not believing the clumsy maid routine, but he didn't have any evidence to push back. He needed a warrant to search the premises or a witness to place Luca at the scene of the murder, and he had neither.

“Don't leave town, Mr. Moretti,” Reynolds warned, turning back to his cruiser. “We’ll be in touch.”

The police cars rolled out of the driveway, leaving the estate quiet once again.

Luca turned to me, letting out a long, heavy breath. He reached out and pulled me into a fierce hug, burying his face in my hair.

“Thank you,” Luca whispered against my temple.

“We bought some time,” I said, pulling back slightly. “But Reynolds isn't stupid. He’ll dig. We have to find Vanessa before he realizes the alibi is fake.”

“Marco is already tracking her,” Luca said, his eyes hardening. “She used her credit card to charter a private flight to Montreal. She’s running to Canada to disappear.”

“Can you stop the plane?”

“No,” Luca said grimly. “But I know exactly where she’s going to land.”