A DEBT HE DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT

Vanessa looked like she had been struck.

“Are you insane?” she hissed, stepping away from the door. “Marco will destroy everything! He hates you. He hates me. If he walks into this house—”

“He will walk into this house because you are going to invite him,” Luca said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. “You’re going to tell him you have his money. You’re going to tell him to come to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night to collect it.”

“Luca, please,” Vanessa begged, her hands shaking. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I know exactly what he’s capable of,” Luca replied. “Which is why this ends tomorrow. Under my roof. On my terms.”

He turned his gaze to me.

“Emma. Get up.”

I scrambled to my feet, my knees trembling.

“You will serve at the dinner tomorrow night,” Luca ordered. “You will act exactly as you always do. If Marco Vane looks at you, you look at the floor. You do not speak. You do not react. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Luca looked back at Vanessa. “Give me the birth certificate.”

Vanessa hesitated, her eyes darting between us. Reluctantly, she bent down, picked up Leo’s birth certificate, and handed it to Luca.

Luca folded it and placed it inside his suit jacket.

“If you make a single phone call to anyone other than your father,” Luca said to her, “I won’t need to fire Emma. Because you won’t be around to care.”

He opened the door. “Go to your room, Vanessa. Start making yourself look like a bride.”

She fled down the hallway.

Luca closed the door again. He looked at me, then knelt down smoothly in his expensive suit. He lifted the edge of the blanket.

Leo was curled into a tight ball, his hands covering his ears.

“Hey, kid,” Luca said softly.

Leo opened one eye.

“You like cars?” Luca asked.

Leo slowly nodded.

“I have a garage downstairs,” Luca said. “It’s locked. No one goes in there but me. It’s got a TV, a couch, and three very fast cars. How would you like to camp out there for the next two days?”

Leo peeked out from under the bed. “Can Emma come?”

“Emma has to work,” Luca said kindly. “But she’ll check on you. And I’ll have Chef Louis send down all the ice cream you can eat. Deal?”

Leo looked at me. I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

“Deal,” Leo whispered.

Luca stood up. “Pack a small bag for him. Bring him to the garage at midnight. Use the service elevator.”

He started to leave, but paused at the door. He pulled a worn photograph from his wallet and handed it to me.

“I knew your sister, Emma.”

I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat.

I looked at the photo. It was a picture of my sister, Sarah, taken at least eight years ago. She looked healthy. Happy. And standing next to her, with his arm slung casually around her shoulder, was a much younger Luca Moretti.

“What?” I whispered, my mind spinning. “How... how did you know Sarah?”

“She worked for my family,” Luca said quietly. “Before the addiction. Before Marco Vane ruined her.”

He didn’t explain further. He just walked out, leaving me standing in the tiny room, holding the photograph of the sister I had lost, and realizing that absolutely nothing in this house was a coincidence.

The next twenty-four hours were a nightmare of anticipation.

I moved Leo to the garage at midnight. It was a fortress. Concrete walls, reinforced steel doors, completely soundproof. I set him up on the leather sofa with blankets and snacks, locked the door from the outside as Luca had instructed, and took the only key.

By Friday evening, the mansion was buzzing with caterers and musicians for the rehearsal dinner.

I wore my black uniform, my hair pulled back tight. The bruise on my jaw was hidden under heavy makeup.

At 7:00 PM, the guests began to arrive in the grand dining room.

Vanessa sat at the head of the table next to Luca. She looked stunning in a white silk evening gown, but her eyes were bloodshot, her hands constantly fidgeting with her napkin.

Luca sat perfectly still, sipping a glass of bourbon, projecting total control.

At 7:30 PM, the heavy oak doors of the dining room swung open.

The room fell silent as the butler cleared his throat.

“Mr. Marco Vane,” he announced.

A man walked into the room.

He was in his sixties, wearing a cheap, ill-fitting suit. His hair was slicked back, thinning at the crown. And running from his lower lip down to the base of his neck was a thick, jagged, purple scar.

He smiled. It was a hideous, reptilian expression.

“Luca,” Marco rasped, his voice sounding like grinding gravel. “It’s been a long time.”

Luca didn’t stand. He gestured to the empty chair at the opposite end of the table.

“Marco. Sit.”

I was standing by the serving station. My hands were shaking so badly I had to grip the edge of the counter.

Marco walked the length of the table. As he passed Vanessa, he gently touched her shoulder. She flinched violently.

He took his seat.

“Wine, sir?” I asked, stepping forward with the bottle, keeping my eyes fixed on the tablecloth just as Luca had ordered.

Marco didn’t answer.

I waited a second, then looked up.

Marco Vane wasn’t looking at the wine. He was staring directly at my face.

His eyes widened in sudden, horrifying recognition.