THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME FEED HIS LITTLE BOY WITH A BANDAGED HAND—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CUT HERSELF OPENING A CAN IN THE KITCHEN,” BEFORE HE NOTICED THE BANDAGE.

The procession that marched up the grand marble staircase to the third-floor staff wing felt like an execution march.

Luca walked beside me, his hand resting firmly on the small of my back—a public, defiant declaration of whose side he was on. Victor Vance, Isabella, Chief Miller, and two estate security guards followed close behind, accompanied by several prominent gala guests who couldn't resist the scent of high-society blood.

My room was simple compared to the rest of the mansion. A queen bed, a small mahogany desk, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf filled with Matteo’s favorite storybooks.

“Proceed, Chief,” Victor Vance ordered arrogantly, as if he owned the estate.

Luca turned his head, his gaze slicing through the older man. “Chief Miller works in my jurisdiction, Victor. Watch your tongue in my home.”

Chief Miller, clearly uncomfortable with the crossfire between two of the wealthiest families in the state, cleared his throat and stepped into my room. He was professional and thorough. He checked the wardrobe, the desk drawers, and under the bed.

Nothing.

Isabella folded her arms, her red-painted lips curling. “Check the jewelry box on the nightstand. The wooden one.”

My blood ran cold.

I didn't have a wooden jewelry box on my nightstand.

Chief Miller walked over to the small table beside my bed. Sitting partially hidden behind a framed photograph of my sister Lily was a small, ornate mahogany box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“That isn't mine,” I said immediately, my voice ringing clear in the doorway.

“Of course it isn't,” Isabella mocked. “You stole it along with what’s inside.”

Chief Miller reached down with gloved hands and lifted the brass latch. He opened the lid.

The gasp from the guests in the hallway was collective.

Resting on a bed of black velvet was the Starlight Empress. The fifty-carat sapphire shone with an impossible, hypnotic blue, flanked by hundreds of micropavé diamonds that caught the bedroom light like a constellation of stars.

“Well, well,” Victor Vance said, a smug, repulsive chuckle rumbling in his chest. “It seems your charity case is a common thief after all, Moretti. Chief, arrest her.”

Two officers stepped forward, pulling chrome handcuffs from their duty belts.

“Don’t you touch her,” Luca’s voice cracked through the room like a gunshot.

The officers froze. Luca stepped into the center of the bedroom, his presence so imposing that Chief Miller instinctively backed away from the nightstand.

“Luca, be reasonable!” Isabella cried, stepping forward, her eyes gleaming with manic victory. “The proof is right there! She took it! She wanted to destroy Sophia’s memory, just like she tried to turn Matteo against me! She belongs in a cell!”

“Daddy?”

A tiny voice broke through the suffocating tension.

Everyone turned. Matteo stood in the doorway, wearing his little tuxedo, holding the hand of Mrs. Gable. His big brown eyes looked terrified, darting between the police officers, the crying guests, and me.

“Matteo, go back downstairs,” Isabella snapped, her impatience finally slipping through her polished veneer.

“No,” Luca said sharply. He knelt down immediately, opening his arms. “Come here, buddy.”

Matteo ran straight into his father’s embrace. Luca lifted him up, resting the boy on his hip, but his eyes never left Isabella.

“Daddy,” Matteo whispered, pointing a small finger directly at Isabella. “Auntie Isabella was in Miss Emma’s room before the party.”

The room went dead silent.

Isabella froze, her face instantly draining of color. “Matteo, stop telling stories—”

“She had the shiny box,” Matteo continued, his voice echoing in the quiet hallway. “She told me if I told Daddy, the monsters would eat my toys.”

A collective murmur of shock rippled through the guests outside the door.

Victor Vance glared at his daughter. “Isabella, what is the boy talking about?”

“He’s lying!” Isabella shrieked, her voice losing all poise. “The child is coached! Emma trained him to say that to protect herself!”

“Did she coach the cameras too, Isabella?” Luca asked softly.

Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”

Luca set Matteo down beside Mrs. Gable, whispering something to the housekeeper, who immediately ushered the boy back toward the stairs. Then Luca reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out his phone.

“After you wiped the kitchen footage on Tuesday,” Luca said, his voice flat, chilling, and completely merciless, “I had my private cybersecurity contractor replace every secondary camera in this wing with motion-activated, biometric military-grade pinholes. Encrypted directly to my private phone.”

He tapped the screen three times. Then, he turned the phone toward Chief Miller and Victor Vance.

On the screen was high-definition, time-stamped video from two hours ago.

It showed Isabella, dressed in her stunning red gown, slipping into my bedroom with a master key. It showed her carefully pulling the mother-of-pearl box from her purse, opening it to reveal the sapphire necklace, and tucking it deliberately behind the photograph of my sister.

The footage was undeniably, unmistakably clear.

Victor Vance looked at the screen, and for the first time, the powerful patriarch looked physically ill. “Isabella… you fool.”

“No! Luca, let me explain!” Isabella cried, lunging toward him, tears of real, unadulterated panic finally breaking through. “I did it for us! She was poisoning you against me! She’s an outsider, a nobody, and she’s taking everything that was supposed to be mine!”

Luca looked at her with a disgust so profound it seemed to scorch the air between them.

“Chief Miller,” Luca said quietly, without looking away from Isabella’s ruined face. “I am pressing charges for grand larceny, trespassing, tampering with evidence, and filing a false police report.”

“Luca, no! You can't!” Victor Vance barked, stepping forward, his face mottled red. “If you arrest my daughter, Moretti Enterprises will lose the Atlantic port contracts! I will pull every permit, every investor, I will ruin you!”

Luca stepped right up to Victor Vance, their chests almost touching. Luca was taller, broader, and infinitely more dangerous.

“I already bought out your majority shareholders at four o’clock yesterday, Victor,” Luca whispered, loud enough for every guest in the hallway to hear. “You don't own the port. You don't own the contracts. You own a mountain of debt, and by tomorrow morning, the Securities and Exchange Commission will receive a comprehensive file on your insider trading.”

Victor Vance’s eyes bulged. He looked as though he was having a stroke.

“Get your daughter out of my house,” Luca commanded, his voice shaking the very walls of the estate. “Before I have my guards throw you both into the street like the trash you are.”

Chief Miller stepped forward, taking Isabella’s arms. The handcuffs clicked shut around her manicured wrists. She screamed, thrashing, cursing my name and Luca’s, but the officers dragged her down the grand hallway, her red dress trailing along the marble floor like a smear of blood.

Victor Vance staggered after them, completely broken, the whispers of the high-society guests cutting him down with every step.

Within minutes, the hallway cleared. The guests fled back toward the ballroom, terrified of being caught in Luca Moretti’s line of fire.

Silence returned to my small bedroom.

I stood by the window, trembling, the adrenaline crashing violently through my system. My bandaged hand throbbed in rhythm with my racing heart.

Heavy footsteps approached.

Luca entered the room, closing the door behind him, locking out the world.

He didn't say a word. He walked straight to me, reached out with his large, steady hands, and pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the ferocious, protective beat of his heart against my cheek.