Chapter 1 – THE PHOTOGRAPH ON THE FLOOR

The silence in the dining room was so absolute that I could hear the rain tapping against the tall glass windows.

Thirty-two of Chicago’s most influential people sat frozen, their expensive wine glasses hovering halfway to their mouths.

Vanessa Bellini’s face had drained of all color.

She stared at June Harper, her perfect, manicured hands trembling slightly against the crisp white tablecloth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Vanessa said.

But her voice was too high. Too tight.

Luca didn’t look at the guests.

He didn’t look at the chipped blue coffee mug.

He kept his dark, intense eyes locked on his fiancée.

“Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet register. “Did you intercept a woman looking for me three weeks ago?”

Vanessa forced a laugh, though it sounded like glass breaking.

“Luca, please. I speak to dozens of people every day. Charity organizers, event planners, obsessive fans of your family. If some confused woman wandered into the estate claiming to know your father, my security team handled her.”

She waved her hand dismissively.

“I certainly didn’t threaten her.”

June gently rested her hands on the back of the empty chair.

“She wasn’t confused, dear,” June said quietly. “And she didn’t wander in. She came to the front gate holding a silver pocket watch with the Moretti family crest on it.”

Luca went completely still.

“A pocket watch?”

June nodded.

“She said Anthony gave it to her the night they met. He told her if she ever needed help, the watch would open any door in this city.”

Luca stood up.

The chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor.

“My father’s silver watch went missing the night he died,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. “We searched the entire estate. We thought it was stolen.”

Vanessa stood up abruptly.

“This is a shakedown!” she snapped, her composure finally shattering. “She’s a con artist, Luca! She found a stolen watch and fabricated a sentimental story to extort us before the wedding!”

She turned toward Marco, the massive head of security standing near the doorway.

“Marco! Escort this diner cook out of my home immediately!”

Marco took a step forward.

But Luca raised a single hand.

Marco stopped instantly.

“No one touches her,” Luca commanded.

He walked around the long dining table, stopping inches from Vanessa.

“If this woman was a con artist,” Luca said softly, “why didn’t you tell me she came here?”

Vanessa swallowed hard.

“I was protecting you. You’ve been stressed about the wedding.”

“You were protecting yourself.”

Luca turned back to June.

“Where is this woman now, June? I need to speak with her.”

June’s eyes filled with fresh tears.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. When she came into the diner, she looked terrified. She left the photograph and the card, and told me that Miss Bellini made it very clear what would happen if she stayed in Chicago.”

Vanessa’s eyes flared with panic.

She reached out and snatched the photograph from the table.

“I am done entertaining this nonsense!” Vanessa yelled.

She tried to tear the photograph in half.

But her hands were shaking too badly.

The glossy paper slipped from her fingers.

It fluttered through the air and landed face-up on the hardwood floor.

Right next to my black serving shoes.

I instinctively looked down.

My breath caught in my throat.

The room seemed to spin.

The woman sitting in booth number seven, holding the white coffee cup across from Anthony Moretti.

She was younger in the picture. Her hair was tied back, and she wasn’t wearing the oxygen tube she needed now.

But I knew that face better than my own.

“Megan?”

Luca’s voice broke through the ringing in my ears.

He was looking at me.

Because I had dropped the silver serving tray I was holding.

It clattered against the floor, scattering silverware everywhere.

I didn’t apologize.

I couldn’t move.

“Megan, what is it?” Luca asked, stepping toward me.

I slowly crouched down.

My fingers trembled as I picked up the photograph.

I stared at the woman who had given a mafia boss a reason to go home twenty years ago.

The woman Vanessa Bellini had threatened three weeks ago.

“This…” I whispered, my voice cracking.

Vanessa scoffed. “Oh, wonderful. Now the maid is having an episode. Get her out of here!”

I looked up, tears spilling over my eyelashes.

I didn’t look at Vanessa.

I looked directly into Luca Moretti’s eyes.

“Mr. Moretti,” I choked out. “This is my mother.”