THE MAN IN THE GRAY SUIT

My breath caught in my throat. I pressed myself harder against the flocked wallpaper of the corridor, terrified the rustle of my uniform would give me away.

Vanessa wasn't just hiding a secret. She was actively orchestrating a murder to protect her financial stake in the Moretti empire. And Luca was driving straight into the middle of it.

I listened as Vanessa’s heels clicked aggressively across the landing, finally retreating into her private suite. The heavy door slammed shut.

I didn't think. I just moved.

I ran down the servants’ staircase, bursting into the underground parking garage. The estate’s fleet of black SUVs sat in perfect, gleaming rows. The keys were always kept in a small lockbox on the wall for the valets. I knew the code—*0412*—because I had to fetch Mrs. Carter’s car once a week for groceries.

I punched in the code, grabbed a set of keys, and climbed into the nearest SUV. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely push the ignition button.

I had no illusions of being a hero. I was a housekeeper. But Luca had defended me tonight when no one else would. He had looked at a bruised maid and chosen to believe her over his glamorous fiancée. I couldn't let him walk into a burning building blind.

I sped out of the garage, the tires squealing on the wet asphalt, and pulled up the GPS on the dashboard.

1420 West Elm.

Thirty-five minutes away.

I drove recklessly, breaking every speed limit as the rain lashed against the windshield. The glitzy downtown high-rises slowly gave way to crumbling brick tenements and flickering streetlights.

I pulled onto Elm Street. It was a desolate stretch of road, lined with boarded-up storefronts and overflowing dumpsters.

I spotted Luca’s sleek black sedan parked in the shadows of a dilapidated four-story apartment building.

I threw the SUV into park and scrambled out into the freezing rain.

“Luca!” I whispered, running toward his car.

It was empty. He was already inside.

I looked up at the building. There were no lights on in the fourth-floor windows. The front door was a heavy, rusted metal slab, propped open by a broken brick.

As I approached the entrance, a horrific smell hit the cold air.

Gasoline.

My stomach plummeted. Two men in dark raincoats were rapidly jogging out of the front entrance, pulling black ski masks off their faces.

I ducked behind a rusted dumpster just as they passed.

“The timer is set for three minutes,” one of the men muttered. “Let’s go.”

They climbed into an unmarked gray van across the street and sped away.

Three minutes.

“Luca!” I screamed, abandoning my hiding spot and sprinting into the building.

The stench of gasoline in the stairwell was suffocating. I took the concrete stairs two at a time, my lungs burning, the pain in my bandaged wrist entirely forgotten.

“Luca!” I yelled, bursting onto the fourth-floor landing.

The door to Apartment 4B was wide open. The hallway carpet was completely saturated with fuel. A small, crude incendiary device—a road flare taped to a digital timer—was sitting right in the center of the puddle.

The timer read 01:45.

I didn't run away. I ran inside.

“Mr. Moretti!” I screamed into the darkness of the apartment.

“Hannah?!” Luca’s voice boomed from the back bedroom.

I stumbled through the dark, cramped living room.

Luca was kneeling on the floor of the bedroom, his gun drawn, pointing it at a figure sitting in a tattered armchair.

The man in the chair was old. Incredibly old. His hair was thin and white, his face deeply lined with age and sickness. He was hooked up to a portable oxygen tank, wheezing heavily.

It was Salvatore Rossi.

“Luca, we have to go!” I yelled, grabbing his broad shoulder. “Vanessa’s men poured gasoline in the hall! There’s a bomb!”

Luca didn't flinch. He didn't even look at me. His eyes were locked on the frail old man who had betrayed his father.

“Where are the ledgers, Sal?” Luca demanded, his voice cold and absolute. “Where is my family’s money?”

Salvatore let out a wet, rattling cough. He looked at Luca, his eyes cloudy but entirely unafraid.

“I didn't betray your father, boy,” Salvatore wheezed, his voice barely a whisper. “I betrayed the Commission. I hid the money to protect you.”

The timer in the hallway beeped loudly. 00:45.

“Luca, please!” I begged, pulling on his jacket with all my strength.

Luca finally looked at me, seeing the sheer terror in my eyes. The mafia boss snapped back into reality. He holstered his weapon and turned to Salvatore.

“Can you walk?” Luca asked.

“No,” the old man smiled sadly. “Leave me, Luca. My time was up eleven years ago.”

Luca didn't argue. He shoved the heavy pistol into his holster, bent down, and scooped the frail old man into his arms as easily as if he were a child.

“Grab his oxygen tank, Hannah!” Luca ordered.

I grabbed the heavy metal cylinder by its handle, groaning under the weight.

We ran out of the bedroom just as the digital timer in the hallway hit zero.

The road flare ignited.

The hallway erupted into a massive wall of orange flame. The heat was instantaneous and unbearable, singeing my eyelashes and pushing us back into the apartment.

The front door was completely blocked by a curtain of fire.

“The fire escape!” Luca yelled over the roaring flames.

He kicked open the back window of the bedroom, shattering the glass. The rusted metal fire escape groaned under the sudden weight of the freezing rain.

Luca climbed out first, carefully maneuvering Salvatore’s frail body onto the slippery metal grating. I hoisted the oxygen tank over the sill and scrambled out after them.

We were four stories up. The flames were already licking at the window frame behind us, shattering the remaining glass.

“Go down! Quickly!” Luca commanded, keeping his body between Salvatore and the growing inferno.

I grabbed the rusted handrail and began to descend, my boots slipping on the wet metal.

We made it down two flights before the rusted bolts holding the staircase to the brick wall gave way with a sickening screech.

The entire metal structure lurched violently.

I screamed, dropping the oxygen tank. It tumbled over the edge, crashing onto the pavement below with a loud metallic clang.

I lost my footing, sliding toward the edge of the open grating.

A massive, calloused hand clamped around my bruised wrist, stopping my fall.

I looked up. Luca was hanging onto the railing with one hand, his other hand gripping me so tightly I thought my bones would snap. Salvatore was clinging weakly to Luca’s coat.

“I’ve got you,” Luca grunted, his muscles straining under the combined weight. “I’m not letting you go.”