The first time I made Chicago’s most feared crime boss laugh, I was sitting in his chair, wearing his glasses, and accusing a twelve-pound puppy of destroying confidential evidence. Nobody in Adrian Moretti’s mansion had heard him laugh in nine years—and when that sound finally broke through the room, every armed man near the door stared at me like I had just done something more dangerous than trespassing.

By sunrise, the estate was under complete lockdown.

Dozens of heavily armed Moretti guards secured the perimeter while federal agents and local police officers—all paid for by the family’s legal defense funds—cleared the scene in silence.

I sat in the small conservatory, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, holding a warm cup of tea that had long gone cold. Winston was sound asleep on my lap.

The door opened, and Adrian walked in. He had changed into a clean black shirt, his jaw tight, his eyes grim. Behind him stood Vance, looking unusually quiet, his hands tucked inside his jacket.

"The perimeter is secure," Adrian said softly, sitting in the chair beside me, taking my cold hand in his. "It was a five-man team sent by Marco Rossi. They were looking for leverage."

"They were looking for me," I said quietly, looking up into his eyes.

Adrian’s grip on my hand tightened. "They failed."

Vance stepped forward, clearing his throat loudly. "Adrian... we have a larger issue. The security system in the east wing was disarmed from an internal terminal ten minutes before the breach occurred."

Adrian’s head snapped toward Vance, his eyes narrowing into slits. "An inside job?"

"Yes," Vance said, pulling a digital tablet from his coat. "The terminal override was executed using an administrative clearance code from the main office."

"Who has that code?" Adrian demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous rumble.

Vance hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly toward me before looking back at Adrian. "Only four people in this house have that level of access, Adrian. You, myself, Claire... and the person who spent three hours reviewing the administrative ledgers in your study four nights ago."

The air in the room vanished.

I sat up straight, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. "What? Are you accusing me?!"

"I’m presenting the digital evidence, Miss Brooks," Vance said coldly, turning the tablet screen toward Adrian. "The override was logged at 0145 AM from the second-floor terminal—the exact floor where Miss Brooks’ quarters were recently relocated."

"That’s impossible!" I shouted, tears of frustration springing to my eyes. "I was asleep in my room until the alarms went off!"

"No one saw you in your room," Vance pressed, his voice smooth and lethal. "And let's not forget your family’s financial situation, Miss Brooks. Forty-three years of bakery debt cleared overnight thanks to an advance from Mr. Moretti. Or perhaps... an advance from Marco Rossi?"

"Enough!" Adrian’s voice roared through the room, ringing off the glass panels of the conservatory like a thunderclap.

He stood up, his towering frame casting a long shadow over Vance.

"If you ever accuse Elena of treason again in my presence, Dominic, I will kill you where you stand," Adrian growled, his face inches from his senior lieutenant’s nose.

Vance didn't flinch, though his jaw worked silently. "You're blinded, Adrian. Just like nine years ago with Julian. You let your feelings get in the way of survival, and now the Rossi family is inside our house!"

"Get out," Adrian whispered, his voice deadlier than a loaded gun. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Vance glared at Adrian for three long seconds, then turned his gaze toward me—a look of pure, unadulterated hatred—before turning on his heel and exiting the conservatory.

When the door clicked shut, Adrian turned to me. He dropped back to his knees beside my chair, taking both of my trembling hands in his.

"I know it wasn't you, Elena," he said fiercely, his eyes searching mine with absolute, unwavering trust. "I know."