"They were about to fire this broke waitress for abandoning her tables—then the mafia boss discovered she had taken a glass shard meant for his son. I was a broke waitress nobody noticed until I threw myself over a little boy to shield him from flying glass—then he whispered “Papa” to the most feared crime boss in the room, and suddenly every armed man was staring at me.

By three in the afternoon, the sun had disappeared behind thick, slate-gray clouds that threatened rain. Mateo and I were sitting on the stone patio near the gardens, drawing wildly creative pictures of sea monsters with sidewalk chalk.

For the first time in months, I felt my muscles uncoiling. The constant, grinding panic of unpaid bills and empty cupboards was absent, replaced by the simple, innocent joy of listening to a child explain why his dragon needed four wings instead of two.

Suddenly, the house’s heavy security alarms blared—a low, rhythmic pulse that echoed through the trees.

Instinct took over before my brain could process the noise. I scooped Mateo up into my arms, ignoring the sharp twinge in my healing forearm, and bolted toward the heavy glass doors leading into the main salon.

Two guards in black suits drawn from the hallways were already moving toward us, their hands unholstering concealed handguns with practiced, terrifying speed.

"Miss Bennett! Inside! Now!" the lead guard shouted.

"What's happening?" I demanded, holding Mateo tightly against my chest. He buried his face in my neck, his little fingers clutching my collar.

"Vehicle at the perimeter wall," the guard reported into his wrist radio. "They bypassed the outer gate's sensor array."

I didn't wait for further instructions. Remembering Luca's words, I ran through the wide halls toward the grand library, pushing open the heavy double oak doors. I scanned the massive wall of floor-to-ceiling books until I spotted the dark iron latch hidden behind a set of encyclopedia volumes. I pulled it.

With a deep, mechanical groan, a three-foot section of the bookshelf swung inward, revealing a small, brightly lit room lined with steel walls, emergency rations, and a bank of high-definition security monitors displaying the entire perimeter of the estate.

I stepped inside, pulling the heavy hidden door shut behind us until the mechanical locks clicked into place.

Mateo was trembling softly against me. "Claire? Is it the bad men?"

"No, sweetie," I lied gently, setting him down on a comfortable leather bench against the far wall. "It's just a test. Your dad likes to make sure the house is extra strong."

I turned my attention to the wall of security monitors.

On Screen 4, near the front iron gates, three dark sedans had parked at an angle, blocking the main driveway. Half a dozen men in heavy leather jackets were standing outside the vehicles, shouting toward the security post.

In the center of the group stood Frank Vance—the father of the man who had thrown the glass at Bellamy House. He was an older man with silver hair, a heavy red face, and a scar running from his ear down to his collar.

On Screen 1, a convoy of black SUVs was coming up the mountain road at a terrifying speed.

Luca had returned.

I watched the screen, my breath catching in my throat as Luca's vehicle slammed to a stop directly behind Vance's sedans, effectively trapping the men against the iron gates.

Luca stepped out of his car alone. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. He wore only his dark shirt, his eyes cold and calm, his posture completely relaxed as he walked toward six armed men who were staring at him with obvious fear.

The security cameras had no audio, but I didn't need sound to understand what was happening.

Frank Vance stepped forward, pointing a shaking finger at Luca's chest, shouting something about his son, about the shipping docks, about respect.

Luca didn't speak. He didn't raise his hands. He simply waited until Vance finished his tirade.

Then, Luca reached out, grabbed Vance by the front of his jacket, and slammed him violently against the hood of the nearest sedan. The five other men drew their weapons instantly, but before they could raise them, twenty of Luca's guards emerged from the surrounding woods, their rifles trained on Vance's crew with surgical precision.

Luca leaned down, his face inches from Vance's ear, speaking three or four words.

Vance's face went completely white. He nodded frantically, his aggressive posture collapsing into absolute terror.

Luca released him, tossed him aside like a sack of trash, and turned back toward his car without looking behind him.

Five minutes later, the mechanical locks on the panic room door clicked open.

Luca stood in the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled, a faint trace of dirt on his cuff, but completely uninjured. His dark eyes scanned the small room until they found me sitting on the bench, holding Mateo’s hand.

"Are you safe?" Luca asked, his voice rough.

"We're fine," I said, my voice shaking slightly despite my best efforts. "We did what you said."

Luca walked into the small room, kneeling before his son. He cupped Mateo's face in his large hands, checking every inch of him with desperate care. "Good boy, Mateo. You did so well."