THE SECRET BENEATH THE SUITCASE

The heavy silver watch struck Marco squarely on the bridge of his nose.

The shattered glass sliced his skin, and the sudden, sharp impact caused him to stumble backward with a cry of pain.

It was a distraction of less than a second.

It was all Luca needed.

Before Marco could recover his aim, Luca vaulted over the railing of the catwalk. He didn't take the stairs. He dropped twenty feet, landing heavily on a stack of wooden shipping pallets. He rolled to absorb the impact, springing to his feet with terrifying speed.

Marco raised the revolver, blood streaming into his eyes.

He fired wildly. The gunshot echoed like a cannon blast, shattering a wooden crate inches from Luca’s head.

But Luca didn't flinch. He closed the distance in three massive strides, grabbing Marco’s gun hand and twisting it upward with a sickening crack.

Marco screamed, dropping the weapon.

Luca drove his knee into Marco’s stomach, sending the older man crashing to the concrete floor. Luca stood over him, breathing heavily, his fists clenched, the fury of a man who had lost his brother and almost lost his nephew radiating from every pore.

For a second, I thought Luca was going to beat him to death right there.

“Luca! No!” I yelled from the catwalk, terrified of what the boy would see.

Luca froze. He looked up at me, then down at Oliver, who was huddled on the floor, shaking violently.

The murderous rage in Luca’s eyes slowly receded, replaced by a fierce, protective instinct. He stepped away from the groaning Marco, walked over to Oliver, and gently pulled the zip-ties apart with a pocketknife.

He gathered the little boy into his arms. Oliver buried his face in Luca’s neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’ve got you,” Luca whispered fiercely, pressing his face into the boy’s curls. “I’ve got you. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again.”

I scrambled down the rusted metal stairs as fast as I could. When I reached the floor, my knees gave out. I collapsed next to them, wrapping my arms around both Luca and the boy, completely overwhelmed by the adrenaline leaving my body.

We sat there on the dirty concrete, a tangled, bruised heap of relief, while the rain pounded against the warehouse roof above us.

“You threw a good pitch, buddy,” Luca murmured, kissing the top of Oliver’s head.

Oliver sniffled, looking down at the shattered silver watch lying on the floor a few feet away.

“Daddy’s watch is broken,” Oliver whispered.

Luca reached out and picked up the watch. He wiped Marco’s blood off the casing with his thumb.

“No, Oliver,” Luca said softly. “It did exactly what your daddy wanted it to do. It kept you safe.”

A low groan interrupted us. The third armed man—the one who had hidden behind the pillar—was slowly getting to his feet, raising his rifle again.

Before I could even scream, the heavy metal doors of the warehouse blew open with a deafening crash.

Five black SUVs swarmed into the building, headlights blinding us. A dozen heavily armed men poured out of the vehicles.

Daniel, the head of security, stepped out of the lead car. He had a massive bandage on the back of his head, but his assault rifle was raised and steady.

He fired one single shot into the ceiling.

“Drop it!” Daniel roared at the surviving gunman.

The man threw his rifle to the ground and put his hands on his head.

Daniel walked over to us, his eyes scanning the bodies on the floor before landing on Luca, who was still holding Oliver.

“Sir. Are you injured?” Daniel asked, his voice tight with professional concern.

“No, Daniel,” Luca said, standing up with Oliver still in his arms. He looked down at Marco, who was writhing on the floor, nursing his broken arm.

“Take him to the basement of the estate,” Luca ordered coldly. “Don’t let him speak to anyone. He’s going to tell us exactly who helped him cover up my brother’s murder.”

Daniel signaled two men, who hauled Marco to his feet and dragged him toward the SUVs.

Luca turned to me. He reached out his free hand and gently helped me up. His fingers were warm, steady, and grounding.

“Let’s go home,” Luca said.

The ride back to the mansion was a blur. Oliver fell asleep in Luca’s arms the moment we got into the armored SUV. The little boy’s grip on Luca’s shirt never loosened, even in his sleep.

When we finally pulled through the massive iron gates of the Moretti estate, the sun was just beginning to rise over the Chicago skyline. The storm had passed, leaving the morning air crisp and clean.

But as we pulled up to the front steps, my heart sank.

Parked in the center of the circular driveway was a sleek, silver Bentley.

Standing beside it, leaning on a silver-tipped cane, was an elderly man in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. He had sharp, hawkish features and cold, calculating eyes.

It was Don Bellini. Vanessa’s father. The head of the most powerful rival family in Chicago.

And standing behind him, looking terrified and small, was Vanessa.

Luca stepped out of the SUV, carefully handing the sleeping Oliver to me.

“Take him inside, Emma,” Luca said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm register he reserved for his enemies.

I held the boy tight and moved quickly toward the front door. But as I passed the silver Bentley, Don Bellini raised his cane, blocking my path.

“Not so fast, little bird,” Don Bellini rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves. He looked at the sleeping boy in my arms, a cruel smile touching his lips. “I believe you have something that belongs to my family.”

“He belongs to me, Bellini,” Luca said, stepping between us.

Don Bellini laughed a dry, rattling sound. “He has my daughter’s blood. And since you so rudely broke off the engagement tonight, Luca, that means the peace treaty between our families is null and void.”