**THE MOMENT THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A DESPERATE LITTLE SERVANT,” I HAD JUST PULLED HIS CHAIR AWAY FROM THE DINNER TABLE—ONE SECOND BEFORE HE SAT DOWN.** Twenty-eight people stopped eating.

“You can’t go back in there alone!” I screamed over the howling wind, my fingers digging into the soaked fabric of Luca’s suit jacket. “Elena has Vance and half your security detail in her pocket. It’s a suicide mission!”

Luca didn’t pull away. He looked at my hand gripping his jacket, then up at my face. The rain was washing away the remnants of my waitress uniform, plastering my hair to my face, but I didn’t care. For the first time tonight, I wasn’t a servant looking at a boss. I was a daughter fighting for her family’s justice, looking at a son fighting for his.

“She killed your mother, Sarah,” Luca yelled back, the sorrow in his eyes matching the fury. “She made your father live like a ghost. I’m not letting her take another breath in my house.”

“Then you aren’t doing it alone,” I shot back.

Luca’s jaw tightened. “You are not a killer, Sarah.”

“No,” I said, stepping closer. “But I know this estate better than anyone. I’ve served every room, polished every floor, and walked every blind spot the security cameras don’t catch. You need me to get inside quietly.”

Luca looked at Ethan, who was shivering under the eaves of the boathouse.

“Ethan, look at me,” I said softly, dropping to one knee in the mud. “I need you to be the bravest you’ve ever been. I need you to hide under the floorboards of the old skiff inside this boathouse. Do not come out until you hear your father’s voice. Understand?”

Ethan nodded, his small face pale but resolute. He scrambled into the dark boathouse, disappearing from sight.

Luca watched his son hide, then turned back to me. The mafia don was gone. In his place was a man who realized he finally had a true partner.

“The kitchen service entrance,” I told him, pointing up the hill toward the rear of the mansion. “Vance will have the main doors guarded, but the staff entrance has a deadbolt that sticks. You have to lift the handle while you turn the key. Vance never learned how to do it. He’ll think it’s secure.”

Luca gave a single, hard nod. “Lead the way.”

We moved like ghosts through the torrential rain, using the heavy oak trees that lined the property as cover. My cheap shoes slipped in the mud, but Luca was always there, a solid hand on my waist or arm, keeping me on my feet.

We reached the heavy steel door of the kitchen service entrance. It was locked, exactly as I expected.

Luca stepped aside. I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out my master ring of staff keys. My hands were shaking from the cold, but I found the right key, slid it into the lock, lifted the heavy iron handle exactly half an inch, and turned.

Click.

I pushed the door open. The kitchen was entirely dark, bathed in the eerie glow of the lightning flashing outside.

We slipped inside, Luca shutting the door silently behind us.

He raised his gun, moving with terrifying, predatory grace through the massive stainless-steel kitchen. I followed close behind, my heart in my throat.

As we reached the swinging doors leading to the main hallway, we heard voices.

“The cellar is flooded with gas,” Vance’s voice echoed from the grand foyer. “They’re dead, ma’am. I’ll have a cleanup crew handle the bodies in the morning.”

“Good,” Elena’s voice replied, sharp and triumphant. “Now, bring me the fiancée. Camille is going to write a very convincing suicide note taking responsibility for Luca’s death, right before she throws herself off the third-floor balcony.”

My stomach churned. Camille was flawed, desperate, and arrogant, but she didn’t deserve to die.

Luca held up a single finger, signaling me to wait.

He kicked the kitchen doors open and stepped into the brightly lit grand foyer.

“You always were terrible at writing, Elena,” Luca’s voice boomed through the massive hall, deep and resonant.

I peeked through the crack in the doors.

Elena was standing at the base of the grand staircase, wearing a stunning black evening gown. Vance was standing beside her, a suppressed pistol in his hand. And kneeling on the marble floor between them was Camille, her face bruised and streaked with tears.

When Elena saw Luca standing there, completely soaked in rain and holding a gun, the color completely drained from her aristocratic face.

“Shoot him!” Elena screamed at Vance.

Vance raised his weapon, but he was a manager, not an enforcer.

Luca didn’t even blink. He fired once.

The gunshot deafened the room. Vance cried out, dropping his gun as the bullet shattered his kneecap. He collapsed onto the marble floor, writhing in agony.

Camille screamed, covering her ears and scrambling backward.

Luca kept his gun leveled directly at Elena’s chest as he walked slowly across the foyer.

“How did you get out?” Elena gasped, taking a panicked step backward up the stairs.

“You forgot one thing about David Bennett when you ruined his life, Elena,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying calm. “He was a master carpenter. He didn’t just build a safe. He built a door.”

Elena’s eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for a way out. She had no weapon. She had no guards left.

“You won’t kill me, Luca,” Elena sneered, trying to regain her composure, though her voice shook violently. “The families will demand proof. If you shoot me, you’re just a brother murdering his sister for power. They’ll tear you apart.”

I stepped through the kitchen doors, walking out into the bright light of the foyer. I was soaked, covered in mud, and shivering, but I held my head high.

I reached into Luca’s soaked jacket and pulled out the heavy leather ledger.

I held it up.

“They won’t need to ask questions,” I said, my voice echoing off the marble walls. “Your birth certificate is on the first page, Elena Moretti. Along with a confession from the man you murdered.”

Elena stared at the ledger, her face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred.

“You little rat,” Elena hissed at me. She lunged forward, desperate to grab the book.

She didn’t make it two steps.

Luca moved faster than I could process. He closed the distance, grabbed Elena by the throat with his free hand, and slammed her against the heavy oak banister of the staircase.

He pressed the barrel of his gun directly under her chin.

“You took my father,” Luca whispered, his eyes entirely black. “You tried to kill my son. And you murdered the mother of the woman standing behind me.”

Elena choked, her hands clawing desperately at Luca’s iron grip.

“Do it,” she gasped out, a defiant, bloody smile twisting her lips. “Pull the trigger, little brother.”

I saw Luca’s finger tighten on the trigger. The muscles in his jaw locked. He was going to execute her right there on the stairs.

“Luca, don’t!”

The voice didn’t come from me. It came from the front doors.

We all turned.

Standing in the open doorway, soaked from the rain, was an older man with gray hair, wearing a faded mechanic’s jacket. He was breathing heavily, holding an old, rusted revolver pointed directly at Elena.