A DEBT HE DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT

Luca stopped in the doorway. He turned around, his eyes dropping to the silver crescent moon dangling from my fingers.

For the first time since I met him, Luca Moretti looked nervous.

“I bought it back,” he said quietly.

“From the pawnshop?” I stood up, clutching the necklace. “Sarah pawned this in Seattle. Six years ago. You said you lost track of her.”

Luca let out a slow breath. He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking at Leo, who was blissfully snapping Legos together on the bed, oblivious to the tension.

“Come into the hall,” Luca said gently.

I followed him out, pulling the heavy oak door almost shut behind me so Leo couldn’t hear. The hallway was dimly lit by crystal sconces, casting long shadows against the walls.

“I didn’t lose track of her immediately,” Luca admitted, his voice low. “I kept tabs on Sarah for the first two years. I had men watching her in Seattle. I knew when she pawned the necklace. I had one of my guys buy it back the same day.”

My chest tightened. “If you knew where she was, why didn’t you help her? Why didn’t you stop her from spiraling?”

“I tried, Emma,” Luca said, his dark eyes pleading for me to understand. “I offered to put her in the best rehab facility in the country. I offered to buy her a house. But every time my men approached her, she ran. She was paranoid. She thought I was trying to take the baby.”

He looked down at the floor. “Eventually, she slipped through the cracks. She changed her name. She started moving every three months. By the time I found her again... she was gone. And you had Leo.”

I stared at the necklace in my hand. The cool silver felt heavy with history.

“Why keep it?” I asked softly. “Why hold onto it for six years?”

Luca stepped closer. The distance between us evaporated.

“Because it was the only piece of her family I could save,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “And because I hoped, one day, I would find you. And I could give it to you.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing mine as he took the necklace.

“May I?” he asked.

I nodded, unable to speak.

I turned around, lifting my hair off my neck. Luca stepped behind me. His large, warm hands brushed against my skin as he clasped the silver chain around my neck. A shiver ran down my spine that had absolutely nothing to do with fear.

“It belongs to you now,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

I turned back to face him. The space between us was electric. The employer-employee dynamic that had defined the last ten months was completely gone, replaced by something deep, heavy, and undeniable.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He didn’t step back. His eyes dropped to my lips. The swelling had gone down, but the cut was still visible. He reached up, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw, just below the bruise Vanessa had caused.

“I should have fired her the day I met her,” Luca said bitterly.

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have known,” he countered. “I’m supposed to protect the people under my roof. And you’ve been terrified in my house for ten months.”

“I’m not terrified anymore,” I said, and to my surprise, I realized it was entirely true.

Luca’s eyes softened. He leaned in, just a fraction of an inch.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the floor below.

Glass shattering. Wood splintering.

Luca was moving before I even registered the sound. He pulled a heavy black handgun from the holster beneath his suit jacket in one fluid motion, pushing me back into Leo’s room.

“Lock the door,” Luca commanded, his eyes instantly turning deadly. “Do not open it for anyone but me.”

“Luca—”

He slammed the door shut. I heard the heavy deadbolt click into place from his side, locking us in.

I spun around. Leo had dropped his Legos and was staring at me, wide-eyed.

“Aunt Emma? What was that?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” I said, forcing a calm smile I didn’t feel. “Just someone dropping a plate in the kitchen.”

I ran to the window and peered out into the darkness.

Down in the driveway, the black SUV that had been waiting to take Vanessa to the airport was idling. But the driver was slumped over the steering wheel.

And standing in the glow of the headlights, holding a tire iron, was Marco Vane.

He hadn’t left Chicago.