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.

In the days following the gala, the city’s newspapers burned with the fall of the Vance empire.

Headlines blasted Victor Vance’s financial fraud across the front pages, while Isabella remained locked in a high-security holding facility, denied bail due to flight-risk concerns and witness tampering. The port contracts were officially absorbed into Moretti Enterprises, cementing Luca’s absolute dominance over the eastern seaboard.

Yet inside the grand estate, a quiet, unfamiliar warmth had taken root.

Luca had officially moved my sister Lily into the private guest cottage on the estate grounds. With around-the-clock nurses and a dedicated medical suite, she was finally out of the cold, sterile hospital walls. Seeing her color return—hearing her laugh as Matteo showed her his favorite cartoon characters on the sunny patio—felt like waking up from a two-year nightmare.

“You look happy, Emma,” Lily told me one Tuesday afternoon, sipping herbal tea in the sunroom. Her cheeks were pink again, her eyes bright.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” I said, gently adjusting the blanket over her legs.

Lily smiled, a knowing, mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s not just me. It’s him. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.”

My face flushed hot. “Lily, please. He’s my employer.”

“Employers don't buy hospital wings for their nannies’ sisters, Em,” she said softly, taking my uninjured hand. “He’s in love with you. And if you’re honest with yourself, you fell for him the day he stood between you and that glass.”

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because deep down, in the quiet corners of my soul, I knew she was right.

Later that evening, after Matteo had fallen asleep and the estate had settled into silence, I found Luca in the two-story library.

A single reading lamp cast warm amber light over the leather furniture and towering shelves of first-edition books. Luca sat on the chesterfield sofa, a medical kit open on the coffee table. He had removed his suit jacket and tie, his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“Come here,” he said softly, looking up as I entered.

I walked over and sat beside him. Without a word, he reached for my right hand.

Dr. Evans had removed the stitches two days prior, leaving a pale, faint pink scar across my palm and thumb. Luca picked up a tube of soothing ointment, gently massaging it into the healing tissue with the pad of his thumb. His touch was warm, deliberate, sending electric shivers straight up my arm.

“Does it hurt?” he murmured, his eyes focused on my skin.

“No,” I whispered, my voice caught in my throat. “It’s just… a reminder.”

“A reminder of what I failed to prevent,” he said darkly.

“Luca, look at me.”

He paused, lifting his dark, intense eyes to mine. The raw hunger, reverence, and vulnerability in them made my breath hitch.

“You saved my sister,” I said, leaning closer, my heart pounding against my ribs. “You protected Matteo. You protected me. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Luca stared at my lips, his hand sliding slowly up from my palm to cup my jaw. His skin was warm, slightly rough, and utterly intoxicating.

“You brought life back into this house, Emma,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. “For three years, this estate was a mausoleum. I was a dead man walking through empty halls, raising a boy I didn't know how to save. And then you walked through the front doors.”

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against mine. The scent of cedar, paper, and his skin filled my senses.

“I can't let you be just Matteo’s caregiver anymore,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I want you. I want you at my table. In my life. In my bed.”

My breath caught. “Luca…”

He didn't wait. He closed the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine.

The kiss was fierce, possessive, yet filled with an aching tenderness that completely unraveled me. I tangled my fingers in his dark hair, pulling him closer, melting into his heat as his arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me effortlessly against his chest. For a few glorious, breathless minutes, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Then, the library doors flew open with a violent bang.

Luca broke the kiss instantly, shielding me behind his body in a single, fluid motion, his hand already reaching for the concealed firearm beneath his shoulder holster.

It was Marco, his chief of personal security. The man looked pale, holding a silver tray with trembling hands.

“Sir,” Marco breathed, out of breath. “Forgive the intrusion. But this was just left at the main security gate by an unmarked courier.”

Luca stood up, his jaw clenched, adjusting his shirt. “I told you no deliveries after eight.”

“Sir, you need to see this,” Marco insisted, his voice shaking. “It was sealed with a wax crest.”

Luca stepped forward and looked down at the tray.

On it sat a heavy, black envelope addressed in elegant, looping cursive.

*To Emma Ward and Luca Moretti.*

Luca picked up the envelope, breaking the wax seal with his thumb. Inside was a single, folded piece of cream-colored stationery and a small, silver object.

The silver object slipped out and clattered onto the hardwood floor.

Luca looked down at it.

His face completely drained of color.

I leaned forward from the couch, looking at the floor. It was a silver locket, shaped like an open book, with a delicate sapphire set in the center. It was tarnished with age and dried mud.

“That’s…” Luca choked out, his voice cracking—a sound I had never heard from him before. “That was Sophia’s. She was wearing this… the night her car went over the bridge.”

My blood ran cold. “What does the letter say?”

Luca’s hands began to tremble. Slowly, he unfolded the paper.

Written in the exact same looping, familiar handwriting, the ink still stark against the page, were seven words: