THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE TOLD ME TO REMOVE THE HOMELESS MAN FROM HIS PRIVATE RESTAURANT—THEN LUCA SAW THE SCAR ON HIS HAND

Before heading to the docks, we stopped at Luca’s private penthouse suite atop the Moretti Tower in downtown Chicago.

The suite was a high-tech fortress overlooking the dark waters of Lake Michigan.

Heavy steel-reinforced doors, bullet-resistant floor-to-ceiling glass, and a private elevator bank that required biometric verification.

Vanessa Bellini was already there.

She sat on a white leather sofa in the center of the vast living room, handcuffed with zip-ties behind her back.

Her makeup was ruined, black mascara smeared across her pale cheeks, her silk blouse torn at the collar.

Two armed guards stood by the doors.

When Luca walked into the room, Vanessa lunged forward, falling to her knees on the hardwood floor.

“Luca! Please!” she sobbed. “You have to listen to me! You don’t understand what he did to me!”

Luca walked past her without breaking stride, tossing his leather overcoat onto an armchair.

He poured himself two fingers of bourbon from a crystal decanter, drank it in one smooth swallow, and turned around.

“Stand up, Vanessa,” Luca said coldly.

“Luca, he threatened to kill my mother!” she wept, struggling against the plastic ties. “He told me that if I didn't get him the silver key and the locker combination from Frank, he would have his men cut off her life support in Switzerland!”

Frank Delaney walked into the room, carrying his canvas backpack.

Vanessa stopped talking the moment she saw him.

“Your mother died six years ago in a private clinic in Zurich, Vanessa,” Frank said quietly.

Vanessa stared at Frank, her jaw dropping.

“What… what did you say?”

“Your father stopped paying her hospital bills in 2018,” Frank continued, pulling a folded medical transcript from his folder. “I know because I was in Zurich. Michael Moretti paid me to watch the clinic. Michael paid for her hospice care until the day she passed away peacefully in her sleep. Your father never gave her a dime after he faked his death.”

Vanessa shook her head frantically.

“No… no, that’s a lie! Salvatore sent me photos of her every month! He sent me letters from her doctor!”

“He sent you forged papers to keep you on a leash,” Luca said, stepping closer to her. “He used you as an inside asset to spy on my family. He had you lock me in a burning building when you were sixteen, and he had you sleep in my bed for three years while he planned to steal my father’s empire.”

Vanessa collapsed onto her side on the floor, weeping uncontrollably.

“I didn't want you to die, Luca,” she gasped through her tears. “I swear to God, I didn't want the fire to kill you! When I saw the flames coming through the roof, I tried to unlock the chain, but the key broke off in the padlock! That’s why Frank had to break the window!”

Luca knelt down in front of her.

He reached out and gently lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“You broke the key in the padlock,” Luca whispered.

“Yes!” she cried. “I was terrified! I was just a girl!”

“And when Frank pulled me out of the fire, bleeding to death in the alley, why didn’t you call for help?”

Vanessa couldn't answer.

Her eyes darted frantically around the room, finding no mercy in Matteo, no pity in Frank, and no sympathy in me.

“Because you wanted the Moretti name,” Luca said softly. “You wanted the money, the power, and the status. And you didn't care how many bodies were buried under the foundation to get it.”

Luca stood up and looked at Matteo.

“Cut her ties.”

Matteo stepped forward and sliced the zip-ties with a tactical knife.

Vanessa rubbed her raw wrists, looking up at Luca with a flicker of pathetic hope.

“Are you letting me go?”

“You’re coming with us to the south dock,” Luca said. “You’re going to tell your father that you delivered the key and the locker number. You’re going to play your part one last time.”

Vanessa began to shake.

“He’ll kill me, Luca. If he realizes you know the truth, he’ll shoot both of us without hesitating.”

“Then you’d better hope my snipers are faster than his,” Luca said.

Luca turned to me.

“Rachel, come here.”

I walked over to the desk.

Luca opened a drawer and removed a compact, sleek semi-automatic pistol—a SIG Sauer P365.

He checked the magazine, chambered a round, and engaged the safety before handing it to me.

“Do you know how to use this?” he asked.

“My father was a state trooper,” I replied, taking the weapon with a steady grip. “Point, flip the safety, squeeze the trigger.”

Luca gave a short, appreciative nod.

“Keep it in your pocket. If anything goes wrong on the pier, you and Frank get behind the concrete barrier on the slipway. Don’t wait for me. Just shoot anything that moves toward you and run for the second SUV.”

Frank Delaney reached out and touched my arm.

“You’re a good kid, Rachel,” Frank whispered. “Remind me to buy you a better coffee when this is over.”

I smiled faintly despite the terror clawing at my throat.

“I’m holding you to that, Frank.”