**THE MOMENT THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE SLAPPED ME IN FRONT OF HIS ENTIRE FAMILY AND CALLED ME “A THIEF WHO FORGOT HER PLACE,” HIS 8-YEAR-OLD SON WALKED INTO THE ROOM HOLDING AN OLD LETTER AND SAID, “DAD… SHE’S THE WOMAN MOM TRUSTED BEFORE SHE DIED.”** Nobody moved.

The gunshot echoed through the massive house like a bomb.

Alessandro didn't hesitate. He threw his arm across my chest, pushing me back against the hallway wall. He raised his weapon, his eyes scanning the darkness at the bottom of the grand staircase.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered softly.

We moved down the stairs in silence. The smell of sulfur and burnt gunpowder hung heavy in the air near the foyer.

Alessandro kicked the dining room doors wide open, leading with his gun.

I peeked around his broad shoulder, terrified of what I would see.

Serena was still tied to the heavy mahogany chair.

But she was slumped forward. A dark, terrifying pool of crimson was spreading rapidly across the pristine white tablecloth beneath her.

“No,” I whispered, rushing forward despite Alessandro’s warning hand.

I needed her alive. Dante’s men at the hospital would kill Leo if she didn't show up.

I reached her side. She was breathing, but barely. The bullet had caught her in the shoulder, tearing through the silk of her dress.

“Who did this?” Alessandro demanded, sweeping the room. The large French doors leading to the patio were blown open.

Serena coughed, her head rolling back. She looked at Alessandro, her eyes glazed with pain and betrayal.

“He… he didn't want to leave loose ends,” she choked out.

“Dante shot you?” I asked, pressing a thick cloth napkin against her wound to stop the bleeding.

Serena let out a weak, bitter laugh. “Dante? Dante isn't the one running things, you idiots.”

Alessandro froze. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “What are you talking about? He was on the radio. He took my son.”

“He’s the muscle,” Serena gasped, wincing as I applied pressure. “But he doesn't have the brains to orchestrate Florence. He didn't rig Elena’s boat.”

“Who did?” Alessandro demanded, his voice trembling with a rage I had never seen.

Before she could answer, Serena’s eyes rolled back, and she lost consciousness.

“Wake up!” I pleaded, shaking her. “You have to call the hospital! Please!”

She was out cold.

“Claire,” Alessandro said firmly, pulling my hands away from her. “We don't have time. Dante is at the greenhouse with Matteo. We deal with that first. Then we save your brother.”

“If we don't bring her, he’ll kill Leo!” I cried.

“I will not let your brother die,” Alessandro said, grabbing my shoulders. His dark eyes locked onto mine, fierce and absolute. “Do you understand me? I protect my own. And tonight, you are my own.”

I swallowed hard, nodding once.

“The safe,” he said.

We ran to his private study. He bypassed the keypad and used a biometric scanner behind a painting. The wall slid open. Inside were stacks of bearer bonds and a heavy, velvet box containing the Romano signet ring—the ultimate symbol of power in his syndicate.

He threw the bonds into a duffel bag and handed it to me.

“Keep this close. Don't let go of it unless I tell you to,” he instructed.

We slipped out through the kitchen’s service exit. The estate grounds were pitch black. The security floodlights had been cut.

We moved silently through the manicured hedges toward the massive glass structure of the old botanical greenhouse at the edge of the property.

As we approached, a faint, flickering light glowed from inside.

Alessandro held up a hand. We crouched behind a marble fountain.

Through the glass, I could see them.

Dante was pacing the dirt path between rows of exotic orchids. He was holding a suppressed pistol. Sitting on a wooden bench nearby, looking terrifyingly small, was Matteo.

My heart broke. The boy was clutching his knees, staring at the dirt.

Alessandro touched my arm. “I’m going in through the front. You slip through the side ventilation door. Hide behind the large ferns. If things go wrong, you grab Matteo and run.”

“What about you?” I whispered.

“I don't plan on losing today,” he said.

He stood up and walked straight toward the main glass doors. He kicked them open.

“Dante!” Alessandro’s voice boomed through the humid air of the greenhouse.

I didn't wait. I crawled toward the side of the building, slipping through the rusted ventilation panel. I slid behind a massive row of tropical ferns, perfectly hidden in the shadows, only twenty feet from Matteo.

“Brother,” Dante smiled, turning to face Alessandro. He kept his gun aimed loosely at Matteo. “You brought the bag. Good.”

“Let him go,” Alessandro said, holding the bag up but not tossing it. “Where is the man who shot Serena? Where is the boss you answer to?”

Dante’s smile faded slightly. “Serena talked too much. It doesn't matter. The bag, Alessandro.”

I crept closer to Matteo. I was close enough to see the boy’s trembling hands.

Matteo wasn't just staring at the dirt. He was holding something.

A crumpled piece of paper.

“Matteo,” I whispered as quietly as humanly possible.

The boy flinched, looking toward the ferns. His eyes widened when he saw me.

I put a finger to my lips.

Matteo looked at Dante, who was entirely focused on Alessandro.

Slowly, carefully, Matteo uncrumpled the paper and held it up toward me.

It was a child's drawing. Done in heavy crayon.

It showed a dark boat on the water. And standing on the dock was a stick figure of a man with a very specific, jagged red line drawn down the side of his face.

A scar.

My breath caught in my throat.

Dante didn't have a scar on his face.

But the family lawyer, Vincenzo, did.

The man who handled all the trust funds. The man who finalized Elena’s will.

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the shadows of the greenhouse balcony directly above Dante.

“Take the bag, Dante,” Vincenzo’s voice drifted down, cold and calculating.

Dante reached for the bag.