TAKE THAT BLANKET OFF HER! SHE'S NOT A HOMELESS WOMAN!" THE MAFIA BOSS'S CRUEL FIANCÉE THREW HIS SICK MOTHER OUT INTO THE LAUNDRY ROOM—UNTIL THE MAID SPOKE UP AND REVEALED A 20-YEAR DEADLY SECRET!

The gunfire on the estate’s outer perimeter was a diversion.

We realized it the moment the black delivery van exploded in the alleyway—not with military-grade explosives, but with three gallons of cheap gasoline and an incendiary flare, sending a plume of black smoke billowing into the gray morning sky over Lake Shore Drive.

While Dante and six of our perimeter guards rushed toward the service alley to contain the fire and engage the two shooters fleeing down the street, Luca’s encrypted satellite phone vibrated violently against his hip.

It was Vance, Michael’s crooked attorney. But it wasn't Vance speaking.

It was a woman’s voice—shrill, venomous, and dripping with manic hysteria.

*“Did you really think I would board that plane to Milan like a good little dog, Luca?”*

Vanessa.

Luca froze at the top of the cellar stairs, his knuckles turning chalk-white around the grip of his pistol. “Where are you, Vanessa?”

A cold, mocking laugh crackled through the speaker. *“I’m at Northwestern Memorial Hospital, darling. On the fourth floor. Standing right outside room 412.”*

My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss. Room 412 was the orthopedic rehabilitation room where my mother had been scheduled to transfer at eight o’clock this morning. Michael had Vance’s files; they knew every single detail of my mother’s medical transfer.

*“Your precious little maid thought she could destroy my life and walk away into the sunset?”* Vanessa hissed, the background noise echoing with the sterile chimes of hospital monitors. *“Michael might be a coward, but my father didn't raise me to leave a job half-done. You tell that little whore to bring the Addison deed to the parking pavilion in twenty minutes, or her mother will have an unfortunate embolism in her IV line before the morning shift arrives.”*

The line went dead.

I couldn't breathe. The room spun around me in dizzying, nauseating circles. My knees buckled, and I would have hit the marble floor if Luca hadn't caught me by the waist, pulling me firmly against his chest.

“Luca... my mother,” I gasped, the tears blinding me. “She can't move! She’s bedridden! Vanessa is going to kill her!”

“Look at me, Hannah,” Luca commanded. His voice wasn't loud, but it had the crushing weight of absolute authority. He grabbed my face with both hands, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Nobody is touching your mother. Not while I have breath in my body. Dante!”

Dante appeared at the end of the hall, his shotgun smoking, his face streaked with soot from the alley fire. “Perimeter is clear, boss. Two hitmen from the 18th Street crew down. They were sent as a distraction.”

“Get Teresa and Elena into the panic vault beneath the library,” Luca ordered, moving with blinding speed toward the armory cabinet behind his study desk. He pulled out two submachine guns, spare magazines, and an Kevlar vest, tossing the vest to Dante. “Call Dr. Marchetti at Northwestern. Tell him code black on the fourth floor orthopedic wing. Lock down the elevators. We’re moving now.”

We sprinted through the underground garage. Luca threw me into the passenger seat of the armored Suburban, threw the heavy vehicle into reverse, and tore out of the private exit onto Lake Shore Drive, the massive V8 engine roaring like an enraged beast.

The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, mixed with heavy sleet that coated the streets in slick, treacherous slush. Luca drove like a man possessed, weaving through the morning commuter traffic at ninety miles an hour, siren lights flashing behind the dark front grille, tires screaming around every corner.

“Hold on,” Luca muttered between his teeth, racking the slide of his weapon on his lap with one hand while keeping the other locked on the wheel.

Seven minutes.

That was how long it took him to cross three miles of gridlocked downtown traffic. He didn't bother using the public hospital entrance. He drove the three-ton armored truck straight through the wooden clearance barrier of the emergency pavilion, smashing the arm off its hinges, and slid the vehicle to a halt right in front of the private doctors’ service entrance on Superior Street.

We hit the ground running.

The hospital corridors were already in a state of chaos. Blue emergency lights were flashing along the ceiling, and a loud automated announcement was repeating over the intercom: *“Facility lockdown in progress. All staff remain in secure stations.”*

Luca kicked open the stairwell door, taking the concrete steps three at a time. I ran right behind him, my lungs burning, adrenaline surging through my blood like liquid fire.

We reached the fourth floor.

Luca pushed the fire door open an inch, scanning the long, white tiled corridor.

At the far end of the hall, outside room 412, stood two men in gray maintenance uniforms. But they weren't hospital staff; they had heavy revolvers drawn, their eyes darting nervously toward the elevator banks.

Standing between them, dressed in a black trench coat with her blonde hair pulled back, was Vanessa. In her right hand, she wasn't holding a gun. She was holding a clear glass syringe filled with a milky white liquid, her hand hovering inches from the door handle of my mother’s room.

“Vanessa!” Luca’s voice cracked through the corridor like a thunderbolt.

The two men spun around, raising their weapons.

*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*

Luca didn't give them the chance to squeeze a trigger. A short, surgical burst from his submachine gun stitched across the chests of the two gunmen. They slammed backward against the drywall, leaving streaks of red as they collapsed onto the linoleum, their weapons clattering away.

Vanessa shrieked, dropping the syringe, and lunged toward the open doorway of room 412.

“No!” I screamed.

I didn't wait for Luca. I didn't think about the danger. I sprinted past him, diving across the wet floor, and tackled Vanessa around the waist just as her hand grabbed the inner doorframe.

We hit the hospital floor hard, rolling across the tiles. Vanessa turned on me like a rabid animal, her manicured nails clawing at my face, screaming curses that would make a sailor blush.

“You filthy little maid!” she hissed, her fingers tearing at my cheek. “You ruined everything! I was going to be the queen of this city!”

I caught her wrist with my left hand, twisted it backward until she screamed in agony, and drove my right fist straight into her nose with every ounce of strength in my body.

*CRACK.*

The sound of cartilage breaking was clean and satisfying.

Vanessa let out a pathetic, gurgling cry, clutching her shattered nose as blood poured through her fingers, spilling across her designer trench coat. She rolled onto her side, weeping in pure, pathetic defeat.

I scrambled up, kicking her away, and burst through the door of room 412.

Inside, my mother, Clara Collins, was sitting upright in her hospital bed, clutching a plastic water pitcher to her chest, her pale, wrinkled face filled with terrified confusion. Beside her bed stood two burly men in plain black suits—men Luca had dispatched an hour before we even left the estate.

“Hannah?” my mother gasped, her chin trembling as she saw the blood on my cheek and the fury in my eyes. “Hannah, what is happening? Who are these people?”

I fell onto my knees beside the bed, wrapping my arms around my mother’s neck, burying my face in her hospital gown, sobbing with a relief so intense my entire body shook.

“It’s over, Mom,” I wept, holding her tight against me. “It’s over. You’re safe. We’re both safe.”

Luca stepped into the doorway.

He lowered his weapon, clicking the safety on, and looked down at my mother with a profound, quiet dignity. He reached up, took off his leather gloves, and stepped toward the bed.

“Mrs. Collins,” Luca said, his voice deep, warm, and gentle. “My name is Luca Moretti. Your daughter saved my family’s lives last night. And from this day forward, you and Hannah will never have to worry about a roof, a medical bill, or an enemy in this city again.”

My mother looked up at the towering man in the bespoke suit, then down at me, her eyes filling with warm, grateful tears.

Outside in the hallway, Dante’s heavy boots approached. He looked at Vanessa whimpering on the floor, then at Luca.

“Boss,” Dante reported calmly. “Salvatore has called an emergency assembly at St. Mary’s Church. The entire Commission is gathering. They want the final accounting of Antonio’s will.”

Luca turned toward the door, his eyes hardening once more into the unbreakable resolve of the Don.