Chapter 1 – The Photograph In Michael’s Pocket

“Luca, if Michael tells you why he’s really leaving, you’ll wish you’d let those men take him.”

Arthur Bellini’s voice echoed through the silent dining room.

Fifty guests held their breath.

I stood paralyzed, the ruined front of my uniform still dripping red wine onto the imported rug.

Luca didn’t look at his future father-in-law.

His dark eyes remained locked on his younger brother.

“Michael,” Luca said, his voice dangerously calm. “What is Arthur talking about?”

Michael’s hands were shaking.

He looked at Vanessa, who was desperately shaking her head, tears ruining her perfectly applied makeup.

“Don’t say it,” Vanessa whispered. “Michael, please.”

But Michael reached into his tailored suit jacket.

He pulled out a small, crumpled photograph and placed it face down on the white tablecloth.

“I was leaving tonight because I had no choice,” Michael said, his voice breaking. “Vanessa found out what I’ve been hiding for the last four years.”

Luca stared at the back of the photograph.

“What have you been hiding?”

Arthur Bellini stepped forward, his heavy cane thumping against the hardwood floor.

“He’s been stealing from you, Luca. Siphoning millions from the family accounts. Vanessa discovered it last week. She was only trying to protect you by quietly sending him away.”

A murmur ripped through the room.

I looked at Michael.

He didn’t look like a thief. He looked like a man standing in front of a firing squad.

“Is it true?” Luca asked.

Michael nodded slowly. “I took the money. Over four million dollars.”

The guests gasped.

Luca’s expression hardened. The betrayal in his eyes was devastating. The brother he had raised, the boy he had washed dishes with, had robbed him blind.

“Why?” Luca asked softly.

Vanessa lunged for the table. “It doesn’t matter why! Luca, let the men outside handle him—”

But before her hand could reach the photograph, I moved.

I don’t know where the courage came from, but I snatched the picture from the table.

“Give that back, you stupid girl!” Vanessa shrieked, grabbing my shoulder.

I stepped out of her reach and turned the photograph over.

My breath caught in my throat.

It wasn’t a bank statement. It wasn’t a picture of a luxury car or a secret mansion.

It was a Polaroid of a little boy.

He had dark, swept-back hair and striking olive eyes.

Eyes that looked exactly like Luca Moretti’s.

“Emily,” Luca commanded, stepping toward me. “What is it?”

I looked at Luca, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“It’s… it’s a child.”

Luca snatched the photo from my trembling hands.

For ten seconds, the most powerful man in Chicago simply stared at the image.

The color drained from his face. The glass he had been holding slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.

“Where did you get this?” Luca whispered, his voice cracking.

Michael was crying now.

“I’m sorry, Luca. I’m so sorry.”

“My son died in the hospital four years ago!” Luca roared, grabbing Michael by the collar. “I buried him! Where did you get this picture?!”

“He didn’t die,” Michael choked out. “The money… I took the money to pay them. To keep him safe.”

Luca froze. “Pay who?”

Before Michael could answer, a massive crash shook the dining room doors.

The men Vanessa hired weren’t waiting anymore.

They were breaking in.

And as the heavy oak doors began to splinter, Arthur Bellini pulled a silver revolver from his coat.

“I told you not to ask,” Arthur said coldly, pointing the barrel directly at Luca.

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