THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME POLISH THE SILVER WITH A BANDAGED HAND—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CUT HERSELF BEING CARELESS,” AND HIS EYES WENT COLD.

The gala ended at three in the morning.

By four, the estate was entirely empty of guests. The caterers had cleared the tables, the orchestra had packed their instruments, and the grand ballroom stood dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the towering arched windows.

I stood on the stone balcony of the fourth-floor suite, the cool autumn breeze biting against my bare shoulders. I had unfastened the heavy emerald gown, replacing it with a simple, comfortable silk robe. The black diamond necklace lay on the dresser behind me.

My right hand still throbbed beneath the gauze, but the physical pain felt distant now.

The patio doors slid open.

Luca walked out onto the balcony, holding two crystal tumblers of ice water. He had stripped off his tuxedo jacket and bow tie, the top three buttons of his white shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

He handed me a glass, his knuckles brushing against mine.

“You should be sleeping,” he said softly, leaning his elbows on the stone balustrade, looking out over the misty pine forests that stretched to the horizon.

“I tried,” I said, taking a sip. “Every time I close my eyes, I hear Isabella screaming. I see the federal agents. It still doesn't feel real.”

“It’s real, Emma,” Luca murmured. “Victor Romano will spend the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary. Isabella is being held without bail at the metropolitan detention center. Their shipping empire will be liquidated by the federal bankruptcy court within sixty days.”

“And you?” I asked, turning my head to study his sharp profile against the moonlight. “What happens to the Moretti empire now?”

Luca took a slow sip from his glass. A heavy shadow fell across his features.

“The Romano family was only one head of the hydra, Emma,” he said, his voice dropping into a grave, quiet register. “Victor didn't orchestrate a multi-million-dollar maritime smuggling ring alone. He had partners. Powerful men in international logistics who were using his ports to move unchecked freight into this country.”

My stomach tightened. “Julian Vance.”

Luca’s eyes snapped to mine, surprise flickering across his face. “You saw his name in the manifests?”

“Three shipments from Rotterdam were co-signed by Vance Maritime International,” I said. “He’s the one who supplied the phantom cargo, isn't he?”

Luca’s jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the crystal glass with enough force to threaten the glass. “Julian Vance was my father’s bitterest rival. He spent twenty years trying to drive our fleet out of the Atlantic. When Victor Romano fell tonight, Julian lost forty million dollars in compromised cargo.”

He turned to face me fully, the moonlight carving the harsh, dangerous angles of his face.

“Julian Vance doesn't use lawyers, Emma. He doesn't file lawsuits. He operates in the deep shadows where the law doesn't reach. And right now, he knows that the person who broke Victor Romano’s ledger… was a girl named Emma.”

The cold air suddenly felt freezing. The reality of the high-stakes world Luca lived in crashed over me once again. Taking down Isabella and Victor was a victory, but in doing so, I had stepped onto a board where the players were far more ruthless than a spoiled heiress.

“Are we in danger?” I whispered.

Luca reached out, his warm, calloused fingers cupping my jaw, tilting my face upward until our eyes met in the dark.

“As long as you are behind these walls, you are safe,” Luca said, his voice laced with an unshakable, ferocious certainty. “My men control this estate. Nothing enters these gates without my knowledge. But you need to understand the truth of what tonight means.”

He took a step closer, crowding me against the balustrade, his scent—cedar, rain, and pure heat—enveloping my senses.

“Tomorrow morning, the media will publish your name on the front page of every financial newspaper in the country,” Luca said, his thumb lightly stroking the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “They will dig into your past. They will talk about Liam. They will call you my mistress, my strategist, my secret weapon.”

My breath hitched. “And what am I to you, Luca?”

The question hung between us, suspended in the crisp autumn air.

Luca didn't answer immediately. He stared down at me, his eyes dark with an intensity that made the ground beneath my feet feel unstable. He reached down, taking my bandaged right hand, bringing it slowly to his lips. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss against the white gauze.

“You’re the only person in this world who looked at me without wanting a piece of my empire,” Luca whispered, his lips grazing my skin. “You’re the woman who stood beside me when the floor was covered in glass and refused to run.”

He let go of my hand, reaching into his pocket one last time.

He didn't pull out jewels. He pulled out a sleek, black leather passport wallet and an American Express black card with my name embossed in silver. Beside it lay a set of keys to a private brownstone in Boston, near the hospital where Liam was being treated.

“Everything is arranged,” Luca said, his voice tight, as if the words were being dragged from his throat against his will. “A private jet is waiting at Teterboro Airport. It departs at eight in the morning. The brownstone is paid for in full. There is enough money in that account to ensure you and Liam never have to work another day in your lives. You can finish your accounting degree. You can live a peaceful, beautiful, ordinary life, miles away from Julian Vance, the press, and the blood that stains the Moretti name.”

I stared at the black passport wallet in his hand.

It was everything I had ever dreamed of. Total financial freedom. Safety. A normal life beside my brother. The nightmare was over. The debt was paid.

The cage doors were wide open.

“And what about you?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“I have a war to fight,” Luca said, his eyes darkening with a grim, solitary resolve. “Julian Vance will come for my fleet. I will spend the next year in the trenches, destroying him until nothing is left of his network. It is an ugly, violent business, Emma. It is no place for you.”

He placed the passport wallet and the keys on the stone balustrade between us.

“The car will be at the front doors at seven sharp,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a whisper that sounded like a farewell. “If you get into that car, you are free. No one will ever touch you again.”

He took a step back, preparing to walk back into the suite.

“And if I don't get into the car?” I called out, my heart pounding violently against my ribs.

Luca stopped at the glass doors. He turned his head slowly, looking back at me over his shoulder through the darkness.

“If you stay,” Luca said, his voice low, rough, and vibrating with an emotion he could no longer conceal, “you stay by my side. Not as an assistant. Not as an employee. As the woman who rules this empire with me. But the war will be yours too, Emma. The enemies will be yours. And I will never let you leave.”