THE MAFIA BOSS SAW ME DRAG HIS DEAD FATHER’S GRANDFATHER CLOCK THROUGH THE ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE HURT HER WRIST IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED

"Down!"

Luca's arm caught me around the waist and slammed me down behind the heavy steel desk just as a hail of bullets shredded the corrugated walls.

Sparks rained down in the darkness. Concrete chips exploded off the back wall, spraying dust and grit into the air.

Daniel was already on the ground, his silenced weapon returning controlled, rhythmic fire through the open roll-up door. "Two shooters outside! Flanking the entrance with submachine guns!"

"Bellini's men," Luca growled, his body entirely shielding mine against the floor. I could feel the hard muscle of his chest pressing against my back, the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart entirely devoid of panic. He pulled the pistol from his coat, checked the chamber in the dark, and looked down at me. "Are you hit?"

"N-no," I gasped, clutching my injured wrist against my chest.

"Stay flat. Do not move from behind this desk."

Luca rose into a crouch, his eyes turning to lethal predator's flint. He leaned around the steel frame and fired three rapid shots into the rainy darkness outside. A wet grunt and the heavy thud of a falling body answered from the alley.

"One down!" Luca called out. "Daniel, move to the left pillar. Cover the alley exit."

"Moving!"

Daniel rolled across the concrete floor, firing twice as he took up a position behind an iron support beam near the doorway. Another burst of automatic fire sprayed the ceiling, but Daniel’s return shot found its mark. The second shooter collapsed with a choked cry, dropping his weapon onto the wet asphalt.

Silence rushed back into the alleyway, broken only by the sound of falling rain and the distant wail of sirens.

Luca didn't lower his gun. He stepped cautiously into the rain, his weapon sweeping the shadows. Daniel checked the fallen men, kicking their weapons away and checking their pockets.

"Bellini family muscle," Daniel confirmed, spitting blood onto the gravel. "They have custom syndicate tattoos on their forearms. They were waiting for us, Boss. They knew about Unit Seventeen."

"Vanessa didn't tell them," Luca said coldly, stepping back into the storage room. "She was under guard in the basement before we left. Someone else in the Bellini family has been monitoring this location."

Luca walked back to the desk, his boots crunching over shattered glass. He picked up the torn scrap of paper with his name on it, his jaw set in stone.

"They didn't just come to kill me," Luca murmured, looking at the empty filing cabinet. "They came to clean out the evidence before I could find it. But they were twenty minutes too late."

"What did they miss?" I asked, slowly standing up from behind the desk, brushing gray dust off my uniform.

Luca reached into the inner compartment of his jacket and pulled out the second key—the unmarked brass key we had found hidden in the grandfather clock's secret wooden compartment.

He walked over to the hospital bed in the corner. He grabbed the heavy steel frame and dragged it aside with one hand, exposing the concrete floor beneath.

In the floor was a square steel plate, completely flush with the foundation, painted to match the gray concrete.

"My father built secret compartments into every property he owned," Luca said, kneeling beside the plate. "He never trusted banks. He never trusted his allies. And after Matteo disappeared, he didn't even trust his own shadow."

Luca found the hidden keyhole along the edge of the plate. He inserted the unmarked brass key and turned it.

A heavy pneumatic hiss sounded as the pressurized seal broke.

Luca lifted the heavy steel hatch.

Inside the subterranean safe rested a thick, dust-covered strongbox made of reinforced titanium, alongside an old leather-bound journal and a stack of audio cassette tapes dated from twelve years ago.

Luca lifted the journal. On the cover, embossed in fading gold letters, were the initials: M. M.

Matteo Moretti.

Luca opened the first page. The handwriting was jagged, uneven, written by someone whose hands were shaking or broken.

Luca read the first lines silently, his face growing paler with every second.

"What does it say, Mr. Moretti?" I asked quietly.

Luca looked up, his dark eyes burning with a terrible, agonizing truth.

"It says my brother was never killed by rival gangs," Luca whispered, his voice hollow. "Matteo discovered that Vanessa's father, Marco Bellini, was planning a coup to wipe out the Moretti family twelve years ago. When Matteo tried to warn our father, Bellini ambushed his car, paralyzed him, and kept him hidden in a private facility to use as leverage."

"Then why did your father pretend he was dead?" I asked, horrified.

"To keep Matteo alive," Luca said, his fingers gripping the journal until the leather creaked. "Antonio knew that if the Bellinis thought Matteo was dead, they would stop hunting him. My father hid him here, under twenty-four-hour medical care, while he prepared for a war he never lived to finish."

Luca closed the journal with a sharp snap.

"And Vanessa?" Daniel asked grimly.

"Vanessa wasn't just my fiancée," Luca said, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying whisper. "She was the inside operative sent by her father to finish what they started twelve years ago. She moved the clock because she was looking for this key."

Luca turned toward me, extending his hand.

"Claire."

I placed my uninjured hand in his. His grip was warm, strong, and completely steady.

"You changed everything tonight," Luca said softly. "If you hadn't found that key, I would have married the woman who helped destroy my family. You saved my life."

"Mr. Moretti, they're going to come after you now," I whispered, the reality of the mafia war closing in around us. "All of them."