THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO GET RID OF HIS OLD DOG BEFORE THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN I CARRIED HIM INTO THE DINING ROOM, THE MOST FEARED MAN IN CHICAGO GOT DOWN ON HIS KNEES.

Luca was awake instantly.

He didn't put on a suit. He threw on a dark tactical jacket over his black sweater, strapped a low-profile holster beneath his left arm, and walked into the library where Daniel was waiting with his tablet.

I stood in the doorway of the adjoining sitting room, wrapped in a heavy wool cardigan, watching them with a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. Bruno and Freya were curled together on the rug by the desk, their ears twitching at the sharp, urgent tone in Daniel's voice.

"What happened at the morgue, Daniel?" Luca asked, his voice flat as ice.

"The county coroner’s office in Waukegan was broken into twenty minutes ago," Daniel reported, pulling up a series of black-and-white security camera stills on the screen. "Three men in tactical gear with military-grade suppressors. They didn't touch the evidence lockers or the drug vaults."

Luca’s eyes narrowed. "What did they take?"

"They didn't take anything, boss," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a grim whisper. "They set a thermite charge on the cold storage vault containing the remains of Antonio Moretti’s driver from four years ago. The body was completely incinerated."

Luca’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek.

"Sal Morelli," Luca murmured, his voice deadly quiet. "My father’s personal driver. The one we thought died on impact when the car hit the river wall."

"Yes, sir," Daniel nodded. "The medical examiner who performed the original autopsy in twenty-twenty-two was found dead in his apartment in Evanston an hour ago. Single gunshot to the back of the head. Professional execution."

A chill ran down my arms.

"Why would someone burn a body from four years ago?" I asked, stepping into the room.

Luca turned to me, the shadows of the fire casting sharp, hollow lines across his face.

"Because Sal Morelli didn't die on impact, Emma," Luca said, his voice trembling with an ancient, long-buried realization. "Sal was a former Navy corpsman. He knew the layout of that car better than anyone. If someone executed the medical examiner tonight, it means the autopsy report was forged."

He walked over to the desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and retrieved a small, fireproof metal lockbox. He keyed in the combination, lifting the lid to reveal an old, yellowed envelope sealed with his father’s personal wax signet.

"Before he left for the docks that night," Luca said, his fingers tracing the cracked wax, "my father gave me this letter. He told me to open it only if I ever discovered that Freya was alive."

He broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of heavy parchment, covered in Antonio Moretti’s bold, slanting cursive.

Luca read the letter in silence.

As his eyes moved down the page, every trace of color vanished from his skin. His breath hitched in his chest, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of the paper.

"Luca?" I whispered, taking a step toward him. "What is it?"

Luca slowly looked up from the page. His gray eyes were filled with an emotion I had never seen in him—not rage, not cold authority, but a staggering, incomprehensible shock that seemed to tear the very foundations of his world apart.

"My father," Luca breathed, his voice cracking on the syllables, "didn't die on the docks four years ago."

The room went completely, terrifyingly silent.

Even the dogs seemed to freeze, lifting their heads from the rug, their ears rotating toward the window.

"What?" Daniel gasped, stepping forward. "Boss, that’s impossible! We identified the body at the city morgue! We held the funeral at Holy Name Cathedral!"

Luca held up the letter.

"The body in the car was Sal Morelli," Luca whispered, reading from his father’s words. "‘My son... if you are reading this, it means Vanessa Bellini has finally played her hand, and Freya has led you to the truth. Sal gave his life to take my place in that burning wreck so I could disappear into the shadows to hunt the traitor at the head of the Commission.’"