THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME CARRY HIS SLEEPING DAUGHTER DOWN THE STAIRS WHILE LIMPING—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL WHILE CHASING HER,” EVEN THOUGH I HAD TOLD NO ONE.

The next three days passed in a strange, suffocating state of tension.

Dr. Evans, a brisk, grandfatherly man who clearly answered only to Luca, diagnosed my ankle as a severe Grade 2 sprain. He wrapped it in an air-cast, handed me a pair of sleek titanium crutches, and gave strict orders for bed rest.

Luca, however, refused to let me stay in the cramped third-floor servants' quarters. Over the horrified, whispered protests of the head housekeeper, he had my belongings moved to a spacious guest suite on the second floor—just down the hall from Sofia’s room.

And just across the hall from his own.

Isabella had disappeared for forty-eight hours, retreating to her family’s estate in Greenwich. But on Friday afternoon, the heavy double doors of the mansion swung open, and the gilded viper returned.

I was sitting in Sofia’s playroom, my injured leg propped up on a velvet ottoman while Sofia carefully brushed the hair of a porcelain doll. The door flew open without a warning knock.

Isabella stood in the entryway, dressed in an immaculate charcoal-gray wool coat with a fox-fur collar. Her diamond engagement ring caught the afternoon sun, sending jagged shards of light across the toy-strewn floor.

Sofia instantly shrank back, dropping her brush and tucking herself behind my shoulder. The child’s instinct spoke louder than a thousand testimonies.

"Sofia, darling," Isabella said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness that didn't reach her cold, pale eyes. "Go down to the kitchen. Mrs. Higgins made those little raspberry tarts you love."

"I want to stay with Emma," Sofia whispered, her tiny fingers clutching the sleeve of my cardigan.

"Now, sweetheart," Isabella said, her tone tightening slightly, the edge of a blade showing through the velvet. "Grown-ups need to speak."

"Go ahead, Sofia," I said gently, turning to give the little girl a reassuring smile. "Take your doll. I'll be right here when you get back."

Sofia hesitated, looked warily at Isabella, and then darted out of the room, keeping as much distance between herself and the heiress as the wide doorway allowed.

Once the child's footsteps pattered down the grand staircase, the mask dropped from Isabella’s face. The sweetness vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, concentrated venom.

She closed the door behind her, clicking the lock into place.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" she purred, walking toward me with slow, predatory grace. She stopped two feet from where I sat, looking down at my braced leg with cold amusement. "A sprained ankle and a few crocodile tears, and suddenly Luca is moving your things into the family wing. He's paying for your cripple brother's hospital bills."

My blood ran cold. *How did she know about Leo?*

"Luca told me," she lied smoothly, catching the shock in my eyes. "He feels sorry for you, Emma. That’s all this is. Luca has a fatal flaw—he has a savior complex. He rescued this entire company from his father's debts, he tried to rescue his dead wife from her depression, and now he’s trying to rescue you from the gutter."

I kept my spine straight, refusing to look down. "If you have an issue with Mr. Moretti's decisions, Miss Caldwell, you should speak to him."

"Oh, I will," she whispered, leaning down until her face was inches from mine. I could smell her expensive perfume—tuberose and bitter almond. "Tonight is the annual Moretti Foundation Charity Gala. Three hundred of the most powerful people in this country will be in the ballroom downstairs. Senators, governors, billionaires."

She reached out, her manicured nail lightly tapping against the plastic casing of my air-cast, right over the most tender part of the swelling. A sharp, hot ache blossomed, but I refused to flinch.

"Luca's empire relies on my father’s political connections," she hissed. "Do you honestly think he will trade a dynasty for a glorified babysitter? You are a distraction. A temporary act of charity. After tonight, when my father announces our formal wedding date to the press, you will be gone. And if you make a scene... if you utter one word about our little disagreement on the stairs..."

She leaned closer, her eyes glittering with dark malice.

"I won't just make sure your brother loses his funding, Emma. I will make sure the board of medicine investigates the facility treating him. My cousin sits on the state licensing committee. It would be a tragedy if your brother were suddenly transferred to a county hospice with no specialized care, wouldn't it?"

The room spun. A wave of nausea hit me so violently I thought I might be sick on the hand-woven rug.

"You're a monster," I whispered.

Isabella laughed—a light, musical sound that belonged in a horror film.

"I'm an heiress, darling. We don't play by the same rules as people who wear uniforms."

She straightened her coat, turned on her designer heels, and walked toward the door. She unlocked it and paused, looking over her shoulder with a triumphant smirk.

"Don't come downstairs tonight, Emma. Stay in your room like a good little servant. If I see your face in that ballroom, your brother pays the price."

The door clicked shut behind her.

I sat alone in the quiet playroom, the afternoon shadows lengthening across the floor. Tears finally spilled over my lashes, hot and bitter. I was trapped. It didn't matter how protective Luca was, or how noble his intentions were. Men like Luca moved mountains, but women like Isabella poisoned the water.

I couldn't risk Leo. I couldn't gamble with my brother’s life.

An hour later, the door opened again. I hastily wiped my cheeks, expecting Mrs. Higgins with dinner.

It wasn't Mrs. Higgins.

It was Luca.

He wasn't wearing his suit jacket; his white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He carried a large, garment-wrapped box under one arm.

He took one look at my face—at my red-rimmed eyes and the tense, defensive way I was sitting—and his expression darkened instantly.

"What happened?" he demanded, closing the door behind him.

"Nothing," I lied, my voice shaking. "Just... my ankle is aching."

Luca crossed the room in three strides. He set the large box on the table and knelt in front of me, his eyes sweeping over my face with relentless intensity.

"Don't lie to me, Emma. I saw Isabella coming down from this wing twenty minutes ago."

"Mr. Moretti, please," I begged, the terror in my chest making it hard to breathe. "I can't be here tonight. I need to take a leave of absence. Please let me go to White Plains to be with Leo."

Luca went very still. "Did she threaten your brother?"

The sheer accuracy of his guess made my breath catch. I looked away, but that was answer enough for a man like him.

Luca slowly rose to his feet. The calm that settled over him this time was different. It wasn't the icy irritation he had shown in the study; it was an ancient, terrifying stillness.

"She thinks she owns this house," he said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "She thinks her family’s name gives her the right to terrorize the people I protect."

He turned and tapped the large box on the table.

"Open it," he said.

"What is it?"

"Your dress for tonight."

I stared at him, stunned. "My... what? Mr. Moretti, I can't go down there! I’m on crutches, I'm the nanny, and Isabella said—"

"I don't give a damn what Isabella said," Luca cut in, his eyes blazing with an unyielding, dangerous light. "Tonight, Sofia will be introduced to the foundation's trustees. She refuses to walk into that room without you by her side. And neither will I."

"Luca, you don't understand what she can do to Leo—"

He reached down, taking my face in both of his hands. His palms were warm, slightly calloused, and utterly steady. The intimacy of the gesture was so sudden, so breathtaking, that all the air rushed out of my lungs.

"Listen to me carefully, Emma," he whispered, holding my gaze captive. "Arthur Caldwell does not own the licensing board. I bought the controlling interest in the medical network that manages Leo’s hospital at four o'clock this afternoon. Your brother is untouchable. *You* are untouchable."

My eyes widened in absolute shock. "You... you bought the hospital?"