THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME DROP A FORK WHEN PAIN SHOT THROUGH MY FINGERS—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE JAMMED THEM IN A DRAWER,” TOO QUICKLY

By six o’clock the following morning, the storm had passed, leaving behind a sky the color of bruised slate. The Moretti estate was dead silent, but beneath the quiet surface, the entire house was vibrating with tension.

Emma had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the sickening crunch of the pantry door slamming shut, followed by Isabella’s cold, mocking whisper: *You really should be more careful.*

Her hand throbbed relentlessly beneath the heavy fiberglass splint. She had moved into the second-floor guest suite as Luca commanded—a room larger than her entire previous apartment, decorated in cream silks and dark walnut furniture—but she felt entirely out of place.

She dressed awkwardly with one hand, managing to pull on a simple knit sweater and black trousers before heading downstairs toward the kitchen. She wasn't allowed to work, but she refused to hide like a prisoner.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Mrs. Gable standing over the island, pouring freshly brewed coffee with hands that visibly shook.

“Emma, child!” the older woman gasped, rushing forward to inspect her splint. “Look at you! What on earth did that wicked creature do to you?”

“It’s just a hairline fracture, Mrs. Gable,” Emma said, offering a faint smile. “The doctor took care of it.”

“A fracture!” Mrs. Gable’s eyes widened with indignation. “I knew she was rotten from the second she set foot in this house. Did you know she had the nerve to demand I pack her trunk at three in the morning? Screaming about lawsuits and ruined reputations.”

Emma leaned against the marble counter. “Did she leave?”

“Oh, she left,” Mrs. Gable scoffed, placing a steaming mug of black coffee in front of Emma. “Dante escorted her past the gates himself. But she didn't leave without a scene. She looked Mr. Moretti right in the eyes and told him he’d regret this before the sun went down.”

Mrs. Gable lowered her voice, glancing toward the arched doorway leading to the service hallway.

“Emma... you need to be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“The Vance family doesn't play by the rules,” the housekeeper whispered, leaning close. “Arthur Vance is connected to every crooked politician from here to Albany. When Luca’s late wife, Elena, passed away... rumors flew through the city. People said Arthur had dirt on Elena. That he was blackmailing her to force Luca into business partnerships.”

Emma remembered what Luca had said the night before about the maintenance logs. “What kind of dirt?”

“No one knows,” Mrs. Gable murmured. “Elena was a saint. Quiet, devoted to Sofia, always organizing benefits for children's hospitals. But in the months before the crash, she was nervous. Jumpy. She kept a small brass lockbox in Sofia’s nursery. She told me once, *‘If anything happens to me, Mrs. Gable, make sure Luca finds the truth.’* But after the funeral, when I went to look for it... it was gone.”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “Gone? Who took it?”

Before Mrs. Gable could answer, heavy footsteps echoed down the main staircase.

Luca walked into the kitchen. He had shed his tailored suit for a dark charcoal sweater and slacks, his jaw freshly shaven, though the dark shadows under his eyes revealed he hadn't slept a wink. He looked imposing, dangerous, and completely focused.

“Good morning, Mrs. Gable,” Luca said, nodding to the housekeeper before his gaze settled entirely on Emma. His eyes swept over her face, checking for signs of pain or fatigue. “How is the hand?”

“Better, thank you,” Emma answered, feeling a sudden warmth flush her cheeks under his scrutiny. “The medication helped.”

“Good.” He turned to Mrs. Gable. “Pack Sofia’s overnight bag. You and Marco are taking her to my sister’s estate in upstate New York.”

Mrs. Gable’s eyes widened. “Sir? Today?”

“Within the hour,” Luca said without hesitation. “The security detail is already briefed. Dante will drive the armored SUV. Sofia stays there until I tell you otherwise.”

“Is there danger, Mr. Moretti?” Emma asked, stepping forward, her instincts as a caregiver instantly overriding her pain. “Sofia will be frightened if you send her away suddenly without an explanation.”

Luca looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “Arthur Vance called my private line forty minutes ago. He knows Isabella was expelled from the property.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that if I do not announce our formal wedding date to the press by noon today, he will release documents regarding Elena’s estate that will ruin my company and strip me of Sofia’s custody.”

Emma gasped. “Custody? On what grounds? You’re her father!”

“Arthur Vance sits on the board of family services in three counties,” Luca said coldly. “And he claims to possess a signed affidavit from Elena, dated two weeks before her death, stating that I was mentally unstable and unfit to raise our child.”

“That’s a lie!” Mrs. Gable cried out, slamming a dish towel onto the counter. “Elena adored you! She worshipped the ground you walked on!”

“Of course it’s a lie,” Luca said grimly. “It’s a forged document, created to hold a gun to my head. But until my forensic attorneys can dismantle it in court, the state would be obligated to place Sofia in temporary foster custody if Arthur files the petition. I will burn this city to the ground before I allow Arthur Vance to put a single hand on my daughter.”

The room went completely still. Emma could feel the raw, terrifying power radiating from Luca. He wasn't just a wealthy businessman protecting his assets; he was a father prepared to tear down the world to keep his child safe.

“What about Emma?” Mrs. Gable asked quietly. “Does she go with us?”

Luca looked at Emma. For several long seconds, the silence stretched between them.

“No,” Luca said softly. “Arthur knows Sofia has a nanny. If Emma travels with her, it creates a predictable pattern for anyone tracking the convoy. Emma stays here.”

Emma met his gaze without flinching. Most people would have panicked at the prospect of remaining behind in an estate marked for a legal and political war. But Emma didn't feel fear. She felt an overwhelming surge of loyalty toward the man who had defended her when no one else would.

“I’ll stay,” Emma said clearly.

Luca’s lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his rugged features. “Emma, you don't understand what Arthur Vance is capable of. He will try to target you. Isabella knows you were the catalyst for this rupture. She will try to ruin you to hurt me.”

“She already broke my hand, Mr. Moretti,” Emma replied, lifting her splinted arm. Her voice was remarkably steady. “She can’t break anything else that matters. Sofia needs to be safe. That’s all I care about.”

Luca stepped closer to her, stopping mere inches away. His eyes were dark, burning with an intense, unreadable emotion.

“You are unlike any woman I have ever met,” he murmured, so quietly that Mrs. Gable could barely hear.

Before Emma could respond, a sudden crash echoed from the front foyer.

The sound of shattering glass.

Luca instantly reached behind his back, his hand wrapping around the grip of a concealed firearm beneath his sweater. He shoved Emma behind him with his left arm, his body acting as an impenetrable human shield.

“Stay here,” Luca commanded, his voice dropping into a deadly, tactical tone. “Mrs. Gable, take the pantry emergency exit. Do not look back.”

“Luca, wait!” Emma whispered in horror.

Luca didn't wait. He moved toward the main foyer with swift, silent lethality, his weapon drawn.

Emma’s heart hammered violently against her ribs. She ignored his command. Cradling her splinted hand against her stomach, she crept along the service corridor, peering around the archway that opened into the cavernous marble entrance.

What she saw made the blood freeze in her veins.

The heavy stained-glass window beside the double front doors had been shattered inward. Lying in the center of the pristine white marble was a heavy paving stone wrapped in yellowed paper.