THE NIGHT CHICAGO’S MOST FEARED MAFIA BOSS WALKED INTO MY RESTAURANT, I WAS KNEELING BESIDE HIS MOTHER WITH HER EXPENSIVE COAT WRAPPED AROUND MY SHOULDERS—AND I HAD NO IDEA WHO SHE WAS. I knew I was in trouble the moment the front doors opened. Not because anyone said his name.

The silence in the service hallway felt heavier than the trays I carried on a Friday night.

Lorenzo Moretti, a man who allegedly controlled half the real estate in Chicago and whose name made politicians stutter, looked down at the floor.

He actually looked uncomfortable.

“Tell her,” Evelyn repeated softly, her hand still resting on my arm.

Lorenzo let out a slow, measured breath. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored black suit jacket.

He didn’t pull out a wad of cash to tip me.

He didn’t pull out a business card.

He pulled out a small, tarnished silver locket.

The moment the overhead light hit the metal, the air vanished from my lungs. It was shaped like a sparrow, its wings slightly bent at the edges.

My hand flew to my chest, touching the empty space at the base of my throat where the necklace usually sat.

“Where did you get that?” I whispered, my voice shaking.

Lorenzo stepped closer. His dark eyes locked onto mine, shedding the polite businessman mask.

“Two hours ago,” Lorenzo said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble, “one of my men caught a man trying to break into the private office of my family’s import company. He was looking for ledgers.”

I stared at the locket. “I don’t understand.”

“When my men searched him,” Lorenzo continued, “they found this in his pocket. He claimed it was his insurance policy. He said it belonged to a waitress at Carbone House. He said if we let him walk, he’d tell us exactly what schedule she worked, what time she walked home, and which dark alleys she took.”

The room spun.

“Who?” I choked out.

“A man named David Hayes,” Lorenzo said.

My ex-husband.

The man who had walked out on me three years ago, leaving me with forty thousand dollars in credit card debt and a broken lease. The man I had finally convinced myself was a ghost.

Before I could speak, Dennis, who had been standing frozen near the kitchen doors, suddenly inserted himself back into the conversation.

“Mr. Moretti,” Dennis said, his voice dripping with nervous authority. “If this employee is bringing criminal elements to my restaurant, I assure you, she will be terminated immediately. We don’t tolerate—”

Lorenzo didn’t even look at him.

He simply raised one hand, silencing Dennis instantly.

“Your restaurant?” Lorenzo asked quietly.

“Yes, sir. As the general manager—”

“Carbone House is leased through Riverfront Holdings,” Lorenzo interrupted, his tone dead and flat. “Riverfront Holdings is a subsidiary of the Moretti family trust. Which means this is my restaurant, Dennis. And as of this exact second, you no longer manage it. Get out.”

Dennis turned the color of ash. “Sir, I—”

“Get. Out.”

Dennis practically ran toward the back office.

Lorenzo turned his attention back to me. He gently reached out and dropped the silver sparrow into my trembling palm.

“David didn’t just offer to sell your schedule, Grace,” Lorenzo said softly, the danger in his voice entirely focused on someone else. “He told my men that he hid something in your apartment before he left town three years ago. Something that belongs to a very dangerous rival of mine.”

I stared at him, horrified. “I live alone. It’s just me and my seven-year-old niece, Lily. There’s nothing hidden in my apartment.”

Lorenzo’s eyes darkened at the mention of a child.

“We are going to make sure of that right now,” Lorenzo said.

He turned toward the front door.

“Wait,” I panicked. “My shift isn’t over—”