THE MAN LISTENING

Luca Moretti didn’t blink.

He didn't raise his voice.

He simply stared at me across the mahogany desk, the flashing green light of the recorder casting a faint glow against his knuckles.

“Who she was really marrying.”

He repeated the words slowly, tasting the betrayal in them.

I nodded, my back throbbing with every breath.

“That’s what she said, Mr. Moretti. She said the man listening would make sure you never found out.”

Luca turned off the recorder.

He removed the battery.

Then he placed both pieces inside the center drawer of his desk and locked it.

He didn't look angry.

That was what terrified me the most.

Men in his position—men who ran Chicago’s quietest, most dangerous empire—usually shouted when they were betrayed.

Luca just looked tired.

“Claire.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are not going back to your apartment tonight.”

Panic flared in my chest.

“Sir, I have to. My mother is waiting for me, and if I don't—”

“I will send Daniel to collect your mother,” Luca interrupted smoothly. “He will bring her to the secure wing of the estate. Her medical equipment will be transferred within the hour.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“Because whoever Vanessa is talking to now knows that a housekeeper found this device.” Luca stood up. “And if they are willing to infiltrate my home three days before my wedding, they will not hesitate to silence a witness who takes the public bus home.”

My stomach turned over.

He was right.

“Daniel will take you to the fourth-floor guest suite,” Luca said. “Lock the door. Do not let Vanessa inside. Do not speak to her.”

I stood up, wincing as the pain shot down my spine.

“What are you going to do?”

“I am going to cut my cake,” Luca said softly. “And I am going to smile at my fiancée.”

Ten minutes later, I was standing in the center of the fourth-floor bedroom.

It was beautiful.

Silk curtains, a massive king bed, and a locking heavy oak door.

But as I reached to turn the deadbolt, the handle twisted from the outside.

The door pushed open.

Vanessa stepped inside.

She closed the door behind her, her red silk gown brushing against the carpet.

Her engagement smile was completely gone.

“Did you think I wouldn't notice Daniel bringing you up here?” she asked, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper.

I backed away. “Mr. Moretti told me to rest.”

“Don't lie to me.”

Vanessa stepped closer.

Then, her eyes dropped to the small travel bag Daniel had retrieved from my locker—the one containing my personal clothes.

It was unzipped on the bed.

Before I could stop her, Vanessa reached inside and pulled out a tarnished silver bracelet.

It belonged to my mother.

Vanessa’s face went completely pale.

She stared at the engraved clasp.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded, her voice suddenly shaking.

“That’s my mother’s,” I said, stepping forward.

“Answer me!” Vanessa snapped, holding it away from me. “This is a Moretti family heirloom. Luca’s father had this made thirty years ago. How does a filthy housekeeper have it?”

Before I could answer, the bedroom door opened again.

A small voice echoed in the room.

“Aunt Vanessa?”

We both froze.

Standing in the doorway was Leo.

Six years old. Luca’s orphaned nephew.

He was clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his tiny hand.

Vanessa immediately shoved my mother’s bracelet into her pocket and forced a bright, sickening smile.

“Leo, darling. What are you doing out of bed?”

Leo didn't look at her.

He looked at me.