SHE CAN EAT AFTER THE GUESTS LEAVE! I'M NOT HAVING AN OLD WOMAN SPILL FOOD ALL OVER MY ENGAGEMENT DINNER!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD

The silence in the study was deafening.

Luca stared at me, waiting for an answer that would destroy his world.

I thought about Teresa. I thought about the desperate, ruthless lengths she had gone to protect this family. I thought about the silver vial hidden in the pantry.

“Hannah,” Luca repeated, his voice cracking. “Tell me the truth.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Luca… she did it to save you. Giovanni was going to kill you to keep control of the syndicate. She swapped the pills. She protected you.”

Luca collapsed into his leather chair, burying his face in his hands. A raw, agonizing sob tore from his throat. The foundation of his entire life—the belief that his father died naturally, the belief that his mother was an innocent victim—crumbled to dust.

“She framed Michael,” Luca whispered through his fingers. “She let me kill my own brother.”

“Michael was going to betray you!” I pleaded. “He was working with Vanessa!”

“He was still my brother!” Luca roared, slamming his fist onto the mahogany desk. The wood cracked under the force.

He stood up, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with grief and fury. He walked past me, storming out of the study and down the hall toward Teresa’s bedroom.

I chased after him. “Luca, stop! Please!”

He threw open the doors to his mother’s room.

Teresa was sitting in her armchair by the window, knitting. She looked up, her expression calm. She knew this moment was coming.

“Where is the hair bow, Mom?” Luca asked, his voice hollow.

Teresa set her knitting down. She didn’t deny the accusation. She didn’t apologize.

“It’s sewn into the lining of my winter coat,” Teresa said quietly. “The red velvet bow. The physical flash drive containing the offshore routing numbers.”

“Who is the partner?” Luca demanded. “Who is the man threatening this family now?”

Teresa looked away. “I don’t know his name. Giovanni only ever referred to him as ‘The Architect.’ He’s a ghost. A digital ghost who laundered the money.”

Luca walked to the closet, ripped his mother’s winter coat off the hanger, and tore the lining open. A small, stiff red velvet bow fell into his hand.

“I’m taking it to him,” Luca said.

“No,” Teresa pleaded, standing up. “If you give him the routing numbers, he has no reason to keep the recording of my confession a secret. He’ll release it anyway.”

“I don’t care about the recording,” Luca said coldly. “Let the feds come for you. You earned it.”

Teresa flinched as if he had struck her.

Luca turned to me. “Stay here. Lock the doors.”

He walked out, leaving his mother weeping by the window.

I didn’t stay.

As soon as Luca’s Mustang tore out of the driveway, I ran to my room, grabbed the heavy revolver from my bedside drawer, and stole the keys to one of the estate’s security SUVs.

I wasn't going to let Luca walk into a trap alone.

I arrived at the abandoned railyard on 45th street twenty minutes after Luca. The rain had started again, slicking the rusted train cars and cracked concrete.

I crept through the shadows, gripping the gun tight.

In the center of the yard, illuminated by the headlights of Luca’s Mustang, stood a solitary figure in a trench coat, holding an umbrella.

Luca was walking toward him, holding the velvet bow.

“Stop right there, Luca,” the man called out.

I froze behind a rusted cargo container. I knew that voice.

The man lowered his umbrella, revealing his face in the headlights.

It was Arthur Vance. The Moretti family lawyer. The man who had sat at the dining room table four years ago reading Giovanni’s fake will.

“Arthur,” Luca growled. “You’re the Architect?”

“I’ve been managing your money for twenty years, Luca,” Arthur smiled. “It was only fair I took my cut. Toss the bow.”

Luca didn’t throw it. “Where’s the recording?”

Arthur pulled a small silver recorder from his pocket. “Right here. But I’m afraid I lied about making a trade.”

Arthur snapped his fingers.