Chapter 2

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

“My father?” I choked out, grabbing the edge of a mahogany chair to steady myself. “My father died of a heart attack six years ago. Before I even met you, Luca.”

Marco, the head of security, refused to meet my eyes. He tapped the glossy photograph clipped inside the manila folder.

Luca slowly turned the folder so I could see it.

It was a grainy surveillance photo dated October 14th—the night I fled Chicago in the pouring rain.

The man sitting behind the wheel of the black sedan parked outside my apartment building was older, with a distinctive scar across his left eyebrow.

My lungs seized.

It was him.

“He’s alive?” The words felt like ash in my throat. “But… the hospital… I identified the body.”

“You identified a body that was burned beyond recognition in a warehouse fire,” Luca said softly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the silent room. He looked at Marco. “Who arranged the funeral?”

“Isabella Moretti, sir,” Marco replied quietly. “She paid for the entire service. Claimed it was an anonymous charitable donation to the widow.”

I felt physically sick. I looked at the woman who had just been banished from the house. Isabella stood frozen by the doorway, her face pale, her hands clutching her pearl necklace.

“You faked my father’s death?” I whispered, the betrayal cutting deeper than any knife. “Why? Why would you do that?”

Isabella’s lip curled into a sneer, though her hands were shaking. “Because your father was a degenerate gambler who owed the Moretti family two hundred thousand dollars. He came to me begging for his life. I gave him a choice: disappear forever, or die for real. The fact that his pathetic daughter had ensnared my son just made the bargain sweeter.”

“So you used him to force me out,” I realized, the puzzle pieces clicking together into a horrifying picture.

“He was the one who delivered the annulment papers to your apartment, Emily,” Isabella said with a cruel, triumphant smile. “He sold you out for a clean slate.”

Grace tugged at my apron. “Mommy, I’m scared. Can we go home?”

Luca immediately knelt down, completely ignoring his mother. He took off his expensive suit jacket and gently wrapped it around Grace’s small shoulders. It swallowed her completely, but she gripped the lapels, comforted by his warmth.

“No one is ever going to scare you again, piccola,” Luca promised, his voice infinitely gentle. He stood up, his eyes hardening into black ice as he looked at his mother.

“Marco,” Luca ordered. “Escort my mother and Vanessa off the property. If they try to take a single dime from the household accounts, freeze them.”

Vanessa burst into tears. “Luca, you can’t do this! The press! Our families!”

“I am the head of this family,” Luca roared, the Mafia boss finally surfacing. “And my family is standing right behind me. Now get out.”

As the guards dragged a screaming Vanessa and a stony-faced Isabella out of the room, the remaining dinner guests scrambled to exit, realizing they had witnessed something deadly.

Within minutes, the massive dining room was empty, save for me, Luca, and Grace.

The silence was deafening.

Luca turned to me. He looked exhausted, haunted by five years of ghosts.

“I need to show you something,” he said.

He led us upstairs to the master suite—a room I had cleaned every day for three weeks, never knowing it was meant to be mine.

He walked over to a heavy iron safe in the wall, spun the dial, and pulled out a small velvet box.

He handed it to me.

Inside was a delicate gold bracelet with a single charm: an angel.

“I bought this the day you told me you were pregnant,” Luca whispered. “I was going to give it to you that night. The night you disappeared.”

Tears finally spilled down my cheeks. “Luca, I thought you didn’t want us. They told me you said I was a mistake.”

He stepped closer, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. “My only mistake was not protecting you better.”

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and I saw his face go rigid.

“What is it?” I asked.

Luca looked at me, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

“It’s a text from an unknown number,” he said.

He turned the screen toward me.

The message read: I know you found out about Isabella. But you don’t know the real reason she wanted Emily gone. Ask your wife about the birth certificate.

Share