THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME WALK HIS DOG ACROSS THE GARDEN WITH A SWOLLEN ANKLE—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE TWISTED IT CHASING HIM THIS MORNING,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED.

The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of black tuxedos, shimmering silk gowns, and whispered treachery. The Chicago Underworld Council had assembled in full force: racketeers, corrupt politicians, judges, and foreign syndicate emissaries.

Silvio Bellandi stood near the elevated dais, holding a flute of champagne, basking in the attention of three council elders. He looked smug, confident that the unwritten rules of Council sanctuary would protect him.

Then, the heavy brass doors of the ballroom swung wide open.

"Announcing," the master of ceremonies called out, his voice cracking with sheer panic, "Don Luca Moretti, Head of the Moretti Family. And Lady Clara Vance."

The entire room fell into a dead, paralyzed silence.

Music choked out. Glasses paused midway to lips.

I walked through the archway on Luca’s arm, clad in an emerald silk gown that poured down to the floor like liquid jade. The Moretti tiara crowned my dark hair, glinting beneath the crystal chandeliers, while the emerald necklace rested proudly over my heart. Beside me, Luca looked like death incarnate in an immaculate midnight-black tuxedo, his expression carved from brutal granite.

Behind us marched Marco and six enforcers, all wearing formal attire with unbuttoned jackets, making no effort to conceal the heavy firepower at their hips.

Silvio Bellandi’s face turned an ashen shade of gray. His glass of champagne trembled in his hand.

"Luca," Silvio stammered, attempting to summon a theatrical smile as we approached the center of the ballroom. "I didn't think you’d dare show your face after the... unfortunate events at your safehouse."

"Did you really think a few cheap mercenaries in a garage could kill me, Silvio?" Luca asked, his voice ringing across the silent room like a funeral bell. "You always were a terrible strategist."

Silvio’s eyes snapped to me, his lips curling with vile disgust. "And you brought the maid? The orphan of a dead snitch? You disgrace this council, Moretti! She is nobody!"

"She is Thomas Vance’s daughter," I announced, my voice slicing through the ballroom with ringing, crystal clarity.

A collective gasp swept through the older council members. Several elderly men in the back row exchanged horrified, knowing glances.

"And she is the sole heir to the Vance auditing firm," I continued, taking a step forward until I was standing barely three feet from Silvio. "The firm that proved you murdered Luca’s father ten years ago, and framed the Detroit syndicate to steal their supply lines."

"Lies!" Silvio shouted, his face turning purple with rage. "You have no proof! You're a lying tramp who seduced a madman!"

Silvio turned toward an approaching waiter carrying a silver tray with crystal flutes of vintage wine. He grabbed a glass, his eyes darting wildly. "Council elders! I call for an immediate vote of censure! Luca Moretti has broken the sacred peace!"

"The peace was broken the day you ordered a hit-and-run on my father, Silvio," I said with chilling composure.

Before Silvio could drink from his glass, Marco moved. With lightning speed, Marco intercepted the waiter, pulling a hidden vial of clear liquid from the server’s inside pocket and slamming the young man face-first onto a nearby banquet table.

"He was hired by Silvio twenty minutes ago," Marco announced to the room, holding up the vial. "Potassium cyanide. Meant for Clara's water glass at table four."

A horrified murmur erupted among the guests. Even in the underworld, poison at a sanctuary gala was the ultimate, unforgivable crime—a death sentence without appeal.

Silvio dropped his champagne glass. It shattered against the parquet floor, spraying golden bubbles across his polished shoes.

"You're finished, Silvio," Luca whispered, stepping between us.

Luca didn't pull a gun. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a signed extradition and seizure document stamped with the official seal of the Federal District Court.

"The FBI is outside the doors right now, Silvio," Luca said with a grim, devastating smile. "I didn't come here to shoot you in front of the Council. I gave the ledgers Thomas Vance wrote to the United States Attorney’s Office thirty minutes ago. You aren't going to a cemetery tonight, Silvio. You are going to ADX Florence for the rest of your pathetic life."