THE MAFIA BOSS DISCOVERED HIS FIANCÉE’S SICK SECRET—NOW HE’S MAKING HER PAY AND TURNING THE MAID INTO HIS QUEEN

"Bring the car to the front portico. Now," Luca commanded into the phone, his voice steady as a surgeon's blade, yet vibrating with an undercurrent of pure violence.

He didn't hang up. He shoved the phone into his breast pocket and looked down at me. "Emma. Can you walk?"

"Yes, sir," I said, hastily wiping my face and trying to stand. The sudden movement sent a sickening pull across my newly stitched back, but adrenaline drowned out the agony.

"You're coming with me."

"Me? Mr. Moretti, I'm just the maid—"

"You are the only person who can identify the specific technician who signed that intake slip," Luca interrupted, his hand gently but firmly gripping my uninjured arm to steady me. "And you are the only one who fought for that dog today. You're coming."

We descended the back stairs, bypassing the grand foyer where the muffled sound of classical music and drunken laughter still drifted from the drawing room. Vanessa was still in there, holding court, sipping champagne, completely unaware that the ground beneath her designer heels had already turned to dust.

A sleek, armored black SUV was already idling under the rain-slicked portico. Daniel was behind the wheel, his broad face grim in the dashboard light. Two more black sedans filled with Moretti’s private security detail pulled up immediately behind us.

Luca opened the rear door for me, then slid into the leather seat beside me. "Drive, Daniel. Take the tollway. If the state police flash their lights, do not stop. Call Captain Miller and have him clear the corridor."

"Understood, boss."

The heavy vehicle surged forward, tires screaming against the wet asphalt as we cleared the estate gates and shot onto the deserted expressway. Rain battered the tinted windows in violent sheets, the rhythmic thump of the wipers matching the frantic pounding of my heart.

Luca opened a compartment in the armrest and pulled out a small, leather-bound first-aid kit. Without a word, he took out a sterile gauze pad and reached toward my neck.

"You're bleeding through the collar again," he said softly.

I froze as his large, warm hand gently adjusted the fabric of my torn dress, pressing the clean gauze against the edge of the scrape. For a man whose name made hardened criminals in Chicago lower their voices in terror, his touch was impossibly gentle.

"I shouldn't have let them take him," I whispered, staring at my hands in my lap. "I should have thrown my body over the carrier. I should have screamed until the whole house heard me."

"You did more than anyone else in that house, Emma," Luca said, his eyes fixed on the rain outside. "My mother adopted Bruno from an alley behind our old bakery in Little Italy when he was eight weeks old. When she was dying of pancreatic cancer, that dog didn't leave the foot of her bed for four months. He kept her warm when the morphine made her shiver."

He paused, his jaw tightening so hard I could hear the faint grind of his teeth.

"Vanessa knew that. I told her that story the night I gave her the ring."

"Why would she do this?" I asked, bewildered. "Bruno never barked at her. He could barely walk."

"Because Bruno was the last piece of my mother that still held authority in that house," Luca said, his voice cold and devoid of human warmth. "Vanessa doesn't want memories. She wants total submission. She wanted to prove to herself that she could erase my past and I would never even notice."

Daniel glanced into the rearview mirror. "Boss, we just crossed the Indiana state line. Twelve miles to the clinic. It’s 10:42 PM."

Luca pulled his phone out and dialed. "Get Dr. Patterson on the line."

A moment later, Bruno’s personal veterinarian answered, her voice groggy with sleep. "Luca? What's going on? It's nearly eleven."

"Sarah," Luca said, his voice cutting through the static. "Vanessa took Bruno. She transferred him to the Southlake Emergency Veterinary Hospital in Crown Point under a false aggression claim. Euthanasia order."

A sharp intake of breath echoed through the speaker. "What?! Luca, Bruno’s kidneys are fine, his heart is strong—he's just old! Who is on duty at Southlake tonight?"

"A night resident named Dr. Greg Vance," Luca read from the forged document in his hand.

"Oh, God," Dr. Patterson gasped. "Vance is notorious in the veterinary community for running a volume-based emergency mill. If an owner signs a waiver and pays cash for a severe aggression surrender, he doesn't ask questions. He’ll administer the sedative immediately to free up kennel space."

"Call him," Luca ordered. "Tell him who owns that dog. Tell him that if he inserts a single needle into Bruno, I will buy that clinic by midnight and tear it down with him inside."

"I'm calling right now!"

Luca hung up and looked at the dashboard GPS.

Estimated Time of Arrival: 10:56 PM.

Eighteen minutes.

The SUV tore through the industrial outskirts of Gary, the heavy V8 engine roaring beneath the hood as Daniel pushed the speedometer past one hundred miles per hour. Red tail-lights blurred into long streaks through the downpour.

My phone buzzed in my apron. It was a text message from an unknown number, but I recognized the cold tone immediately.

Emma. Where did you run off to? The catering staff says you abandoned your post. If you aren't back in the scullery cleaning crystal in ten minutes, I'm calling the police and reporting my emerald brooch stolen from my dressing table. Let's see your sick mother visit you in Cook County Jail.

My breath caught in my throat. My hands began to shake violently.

Luca noticed the screen glowing. He reached over, took the phone from my hand, and read the message.

A slow, terrifying smile touched the corners of his mouth—the kind of smile that preceded a massacre.

"Let her text," Luca said softly, handing the phone back to me. "Let her dig the grave so deep she can never climb out."

"Mr. Moretti... what if we're too late?" I asked, tears stinging my eyes. "What if that man already..."

Luca didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his mother’s blue flannel blanket resting on his knee.

"Then Vanessa Bellini will discover what happens when you take the only thing a Moretti has left to protect."

"Two minutes out!" Daniel called from the front.

The SUV took a sharp, aggressive turn into a dimly lit commercial park. A glowing blue neon sign flickered through the heavy fog: SOUTHLAKE 24-HOUR EMERGENCY VET & SURGERY.