"THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME PUSH HIS ENGAGEMENT CAKE ACROSS THE DINING ROOM WITHOUT PUTTING MY LEFT HEEL DOWN—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL IN THE GIFT ROOM,” BEFORE HE HAD ASKED WHY I WAS LIMPING.

The third-floor staff guest room was small, warm, and smelled faintly of lavender.

I was lying on the small twin bed with my left leg propped up on three thick goose-feather pillows. An ice pack wrapped in a white towel rested over my ankle. Dr. Harris, a polite, quiet man who had served as the Moretti family physician for twenty years, had just finished binding my leg in a rigid fiberglass splint.

"Severe ligament tearing and a hairline fracture on the outer malleolus," Dr. Harris had diagnosed quietly, writing out a prescription for high-strength painkillers. "No weight on this foot for at least four weeks, Hannah. If you walk on it again, you'll need surgery."

I had thanked him, staring numbly at the white ceiling, wondering how I was going to pay my rent, buy groceries, or survive the next month without a working leg.

At 11:30 P.M., a knock sounded at the door.

Mrs. Carter stepped aside as Daniel Vance entered the room.

"Hannah," Daniel said politely, his voice devoid of any aggression. "Mr. Moretti would like to see you in his study."

Panic flared instantly in my chest. "Is... is he firing me?"

"No," Daniel replied smoothly, pulling a lightweight folding wheelchair from behind his back. "He just wants to talk. Let me help you."

Five minutes later, Daniel pushed my wheelchair through the heavy double doors of Luca Moretti’s private study.

The room was vast, dim, and smelled of old leather, cedarwood, and expensive tobacco. A roaring fire crackled in the large stone hearth, casting dancing orange shadows across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

Luca was standing by the large bay window, staring out into the dark, rain-swept gardens. He didn't turn around immediately when the door closed.

"Leave us, Daniel," Luca commanded quietly.

"Yes, boss."

The heavy oak door clicked shut. I was left alone with the most feared man in Chicago.

I sat shivering slightly in the wheelchair, pulling my woolen shawl tighter around my shoulders, my hands quivering in my lap.

Luca turned around slowly.

He had taken off his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his forearms, revealing broad, muscular wrists. He walked over to his massive mahogany desk, grabbed a small silver remote, and pressed a button.

The large HD monitor on the wall lit up.

My breath hitched in my throat.

On the screen was the crystal-clear security video of the third-floor hallway from 3:36 P.M. today.

I watched myself walking down the corridor carrying the stack of cards—walking normally, comfortably, without a single trace of an injury. I watched Vanessa enter thirty seconds later. I watched her drag the heavy white box out into the hall.

And then I watched myself stumble out of the room, crying, clutching the wall, as Vanessa shoved me toward the stairs.

My face went completely drain-white.

Luca walked over to my wheelchair, pulled a heavy leather armchair up directly across from me, and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, bringing his face level with mine.

His gray eyes were intense, piercing, but remarkably free of anger toward me.

"Hannah," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Did you see what Vanessa put in that white box?"

My throat closed up completely. Tears instantly welled in my eyes, spilling over my lashes.

"Mr. Moretti... please," I sobbed quietly, hiding my face in my trembling hands. "Please don't make me do this. She said... she said she'd make sure I was arrested for theft if I spoke to anyone. She said your family would destroy me."

Luca reached out. His massive, calloused hand gently touched my wrist, firmly but carefully pulling my hands away from my face.

"Look at me, Hannah."

I raised my wet eyes to meet his.

"You are under my protection," Luca said, his voice ringing with absolute, unshakeable authority. "No one in this house will touch you. No one will arrest you. And Vanessa Bellini will never threaten you again. But I need you to tell me the truth."

I took a shaky, ragged breath, wiping my nose with the edge of my shawl.

"I... I was taking the cards into the gift room like Mrs. Carter asked," I began, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "I didn't know anyone was in there. The room was supposed to be locked."

"Go on," Luca urged softly.

"When I opened the door... Miss Bellini was sitting on the floor behind the main gift table," I whispered. "She had a small jeweler's velvet case open, and she was putting something into a heavy white box lined with foam."

"What was she putting in the box?"

"A necklace," I choked out. "A huge green necklace. It was glowing under the light. It looked like... like a vine made of emeralds and diamonds."

Luca’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently along his jawline. "My mother's necklace."

I nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

"What happened next?"

"She saw me," I whispered, the memory sending a cold shiver down my spine. "She slammed the box shut and jumped up. She was nervous—her hands were shaking. She told me it was... she said she was sending it to be professionally cleaned and polished before the wedding on Saturday."

Luca leaned closer. "And your ankle, Hannah? How was it hurt?"

I looked down at the rigid white fiberglass splint covering my foot.

"I... I asked a stupid question," I admitted quietly. "I told her I thought Master Jeweler Bernard was coming to the mansion tomorrow morning to clean the family jewelry here, so why did she need a courier at four o'clock today?"

Luca let out a soft, dark breath through his nose. "She didn't like that question."

"No, sir," I whispered, fresh tears falling down my cheeks. "She flew into a rage. Her face changed... she looked terrifying. She grabbed my arm, slapped me across the face, and told me to get out. When I tried to back away toward the door, she grabbed the heavy brass luggage cart and violently shoved it forward into my legs."

My voice broke into a sob.

"The heavy steel wheel ran straight over my left ankle, pinning my foot against the bottom of the wooden storage cabinet. I heard a loud snap... and the pain was so bad I couldn't breathe. She leaned down over me while I was on the floor, grabbed my hair, and told me that if I ever mentioned the white box, the necklace, or her presence in that room to you, she would tell the police I stole four thousand dollars' worth of silverware from the pantry."

Silence descended over the study.

The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace logs and my soft, trembling breaths.

Luca stood up from his chair. The transformation in his demeanor was absolute and terrifying. The quiet, calculating businessman was gone; standing in his place was the ruthless head of the Moretti family, a man whose lineage had ruled Chicago's shadows for three generations.

He reached for the desk phone, dialing an internal extension.

"Daniel."

"Yes, boss?"

"Call Kingsbury & Fine Antiques. Tell the director that the item delivered to them in a white box at four-eight p.m. today is stolen property belonging to the Moretti estate. Tell them if that box is opened, sold, or moved before my men arrive, I will personally burn their auction house to the ground."

"Understood, boss. And Miss Bellini?"

Luca’s gray eyes settled on the door leading out toward the guest wing.

"Don't tell her anything," Luca ordered smoothly. "Let her sleep peacefully tonight. She has a very long day tomorrow."

He was about to hang up the phone when I suddenly remembered the detail that had been burning in the back of my mind all evening—the detail that had kept me awake in my bed, terrified to my very core.

I reached out from my wheelchair, my trembling fingers catching the black wool sleeve of his shirt.

"Mr. Moretti..." I squeaked.

Luca stopped, lowering the phone from his ear. He looked down at my hand on his sleeve, then into my eyes.

"What is it, Hannah?"

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding violently against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Vanessa wasn't alone when I entered the gift room," I whispered.

Luca went completely, dead still. The air in the study felt like it instantly dropped twenty degrees.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made the hair on my arms stand up.

"She wasn't alone, sir," I repeated, my voice barely audible above the hum of the fire. "There was a man standing in the dark corner behind the velvet curtains. He was the one who handed her the velvet case."

Luca’s eyes burned into mine. "Who was he, Hannah?"