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.

For forty-five agonizing minutes, Matteo and I sat huddled on the leather bench inside the panic room.

The vault was soundproof, cutting off the gunfire, the shouting, and the violence outside. The absolute silence was worse than the noise; it left my mind to conjure every horrifying scenario imaginable. Was Luca alive? Had they reached Lily in the guest cottage?

Matteo finally cried himself to exhaustion, his head resting heavily in my lap. I stroked his hair rhythmically, my heart hammering against my ribs, watching the security monitor mounted on the vault wall.

The screen flickered.

The exterior feeds began coming back online one by one as the estate’s secondary generator engaged.

I leaned forward, my breath catching in my throat.

The courtyard was swarming with flashing red and blue lights—not just estate security, but heavily armed state tactical units. Five intruders in black tactical gear were kneeling on the asphalt, zip-tied, under the heavy guard of Marco’s men. Paramedics were wheeling a stretcher away from the guest cottage, but my heart leaped with relief when I saw Lily sitting upright on the gurney, wrapped in an emergency blanket, giving a thumbs-up to a security officer.

She was alive.

Then, the monitor showed the library doors.

A tall figure stepped into the frame.

It was Luca.

His dress shirt was torn, soaked in sweat and blood, his face bruised, but he was walking under his own power. He walked straight to the false bookcase and tapped the external release code.

The heavy steel door hissed open.

I stood up immediately, gently laying Matteo on the bench, and rushed toward the threshold.

Luca stepped inside, caught me before I could speak, and crushed me against his chest. I buried my face in his neck, sobbing with relief, inhaling the familiar scent of cedar beneath the metallic smell of smoke and copper.

“It’s over,” he rasped against my ear, his large hands trembling slightly as they pressed into my back. “They’re contained. Marco secured Lily. She’s completely safe.”

“You’re bleeding,” I cried, pulling back to look at a deep cut along his temple.

“It’s not mine,” he said quietly, his dark eyes hollow, haunted by something far worse than physical pain.

He looked over my shoulder at Matteo, who was beginning to stir on the bench. Luca walked over, scooped his son into his arms, and held him so tightly the boy gave a soft, sleepy grunt.

“Daddy’s here, champ,” Luca whispered, kissing the boy’s forehead repeatedly. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Marco appeared in the vault doorway, his arm in a sling, his expression grim. “Boss. The lead tactical officer finished interrogating the survivor from the perimeter team.”

Luca slowly set Matteo back down, turning his dark gaze to his head of security. “Who hired them? Was it Vance’s remaining offshore accounts?”

“No, sir,” Marco said, looking down at the tablet in his hands, his voice dropping into a tense whisper. “Victor Vance had nothing to do with this. The wire transfer originated from a private Swiss bank account flagged twelve hours ago.”

Luca’s brow furrowed. “Whose account?”

Marco hesitated, glancing at me before looking Luca dead in the eye.

“It belonged to the estate of Sophia Moretti.”

The temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero.

Luca froze. “What did you say?”

“The team wasn't hired to assassinate you, Mr. Moretti,” Marco said, his voice shaking with disbelief. “Their extraction orders were specific: retrieve Matteo Moretti unharmed, eliminate any civilian interference, and transport the boy to an airstrip in Nova Scotia.”

“That’s impossible,” Luca growled, stepping forward, his hands balling into fists. “Sophia died three years ago! I identified her dental records! Her car was pulled from forty feet of freezing water!”

“Sir, the survivor gave up the drop coordinator,” Marco continued, pulling a clear plastic evidence bag from his pocket. Inside was a burner phone and a handwritten flight manifest. “The private jet landing in Nova Scotia tonight isn't registered to a shell company. It’s registered to an alias Sophia used during her university years in Milan.”

Luca took the bag, staring at the documents as if they were written in a foreign language. His chest heaved with heavy, ragged breaths.

I stepped up beside him, gently placing my hand over his clenched fist. His skin was burning hot, his whole body vibrating with shock and fury.

“Luca,” I whispered softly.

He looked at me, completely shattered. The invincible billionaire, the ruthless titan who ruled an empire, looked like a boy lost in a storm.

“She let me bury an empty coffin,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking with agony. “She let Matteo grow up believing his mother was dead. She watched us bleed from the shadows.”

“Why would she do that?” I murmured, my mind reeling. “If she was alive, why stay hidden? Why come for Matteo now?”

Luca looked down at the silver locket still sitting on the coffee table outside the vault—the muddy, tarnished locket that had arrived with the courier.

*Look closer, Luca.*

Luca walked slowly toward the table, picked up the silver locket, and turned it over in his bloodstained fingers. With a sharp flick of his thumbnail, he pried open the hidden compartment behind the portrait hinge—a secret clasp only he and Sophia had known about.

Inside was not a picture.

It was a tiny, micro-SD storage card.