THE GROOM WAS NEVER THE REAL DANGER

The ride back to the Moretti estate was a suffocating blur of panic and adrenaline.

Luca drove his armored SUV with ruthless precision, weaving through the late afternoon traffic. Grace sat in the passenger seat, clutching the brass watch so tightly her knuckles were stark white. I sat in the back, checking the magazine of the small pistol Michael had insisted I carry since the wedding shootout.

“How did Declan find out?” Grace asked, her voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. “My mother burned the records before she died.”

“Daniel,” Luca spat, taking a hard corner. “When Vincenzo and Daniel were digging into our past to frame you, they must have found the connection. Daniel knew he was losing the war three nights ago. So he leaked your bloodline to the Gallaghers as a final act of spite. He threw a grenade into our lives on his way down.”

“Declan is a psychopath,” Grace breathed, staring out the reinforced window. “He’s been running the Gallagher enforcers for ten years. If Liam is dead, Declan won't want to share the throne. He doesn’t want me back to lead the family. He wants me dead so there are no rival claims.”

Luca’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until the leather creaked. “He’s not touching you. I don’t care if I have to burn the South Side to ash. You are my wife.”

We turned onto the winding, forested road leading to the Moretti estate.

A mile from the front gates, the trees broke, revealing the sprawling iron entrance.

The sight was terrifying.

Four massive black transport trucks were parked horizontally, blocking the entire road. Dozens of men in dark trench coats stood leaning against the vehicles, openly holding assault rifles. It was a blatant, brazen display of power.

And standing directly in front of the locked iron gates of the Moretti mansion was Declan Gallagher.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with striking red hair and a jagged scar running down his jawline. He wore a tailored suit, but he looked like a brawler stuffed into expensive fabric.

Inside the gates, Luca’s men had formed a barricade. Marco—the guard whose jaw Selena had broken with the perfume bottle, who had miraculously survived the wedding—was standing at the front, a heavy machine gun strapped to his chest.

Luca stopped the SUV fifty yards from the Gallagher blockade.

“Stay in the car,” Luca ordered, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“No,” Grace said immediately. She unbuckled her own belt. “If Declan wants the heir, I’ll show him the heir. I am not hiding behind you anymore, Luca.”

“Grace, you’re recovering from a gunshot wound—”

“I’m going,” she said firmly, grabbing her cane.

Luca looked at her, seeing the absolute iron in her eyes. He nodded once.

We stepped out of the vehicle into the freezing Chicago wind. I stayed close to Grace’s right side, ready to catch her if her legs gave out. Luca walked on her left, his hand resting casually near his holstered weapon.

As we approached, the Gallagher men raised their rifles.

Declan raised a single, leather-gloved hand. The rifles lowered, though not by much.

“Luca Moretti,” Declan called out, his voice thick with a South Side brogue. “I didn’t want to start a war on my first day as boss. But you’re holding stolen property.”

Luca stopped ten feet from Declan. He didn’t flinch.

“You’re on my driveway, Declan,” Luca said quietly. “You have thirty seconds to turn these trucks around before I have my snipers put a hole in your throat.”

Declan laughed, a harsh, barking sound. He turned his gaze to Grace. His eyes narrowed, studying her face.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Declan said, stepping closer. “You’ve got the old man’s eyes. Grace Rossi. The bastard daughter. Kept in the dark while Liam built an empire.”

Grace stood perfectly straight, leaning slightly on her cane. “I wasn’t kept in the dark. I wanted nothing to do with him. And I want nothing to do with you.”

Declan’s smile vanished. “That’s a shame. Because the old man left a will. Turns out, he felt guilty in his old age. Left fifty percent of the Gallagher syndicate to his ‘long-lost daughter.’ And I can’t have a Moretti wife owning half my streets.”

“I don’t want your money or your streets,” Grace said coldly. “Keep it.”

“It’s not about what you want,” Declan spat, pulling a heavy silver revolver from his coat. “It’s about loose ends. As long as you breathe, my captains will question my absolute claim. You’re coming with us, Grace. We’ll do it quietly, or we’ll do it loudly.”

Behind the iron gates, Marco racked the slide on his machine gun.

The Gallagher men raised their rifles again.

We were seconds away from a bloodbath. Thirty men against Luca’s perimeter guards. Grace, Luca, and I were standing entirely exposed in the open ground between them.

“You think you can take her from me?” Luca asked, stepping directly in front of Grace, blocking Declan’s line of sight. “You’ll die before you unlatch the gate.”

Declan cocked the hammer of his revolver. “I’m willing to roll those dice, Italian.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought my ribs would crack. I looked at Grace. She wasn't looking at Declan’s gun. She was looking at the brass watch in her hand.

“Wait,” Grace said loudly.

She stepped out from behind Luca, limping forward until she was only three feet from Declan Gallagher.

“Grace, no!” Luca hissed, reaching for her.

Grace held up her hand, stopping her husband. She looked Declan dead in the eye.

“You want the claim to the throne?” Grace asked, her voice ringing out in the freezing air. “You want absolute proof that I renounce my bloodline?”

Declan frowned, keeping the gun leveled at her chest. “Words don’t mean anything in our world, sweetheart.”

“I know,” Grace said.

She opened her palm. Resting on her skin was the brass pocket watch.

Declan’s eyes widened. He recognized it immediately.

“That’s Liam’s watch,” Declan breathed. “He claimed he lost it twenty years ago. The boss’s watch. The symbol of the head of the family.”

“He gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday,” Grace said softly. “He told me that whoever held this watch held the heart of the Gallaghers.”

Declan lowered his gun slightly, his eyes locked greedily on the brass heirloom. “Give it to me.”

Grace smiled. A sad, final smile.

“You want the Gallagher legacy?” Grace whispered.

Then, with a sudden, violent motion, Grace threw the heavy brass watch onto the asphalt.

Before Declan could react, Grace raised her cane and brought the heavy metal tip down with all her strength, smashing the brass casing into twisted, shattered pieces. The glass cracked. The gears snapped. The photograph of her and Liam tore in half.

Declan screamed in absolute horror.