THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME SERVE HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH MY BROKEN GLASSES HELD TOGETHER BY TAPE—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL IN THE LIBRARY,” BEFORE HE HAD EVEN ASKED WHY MY NOSE WAS BLEEDING.

The morning sun broke through the heavy grey clouds over Chicago, casting a warm, golden hue across the immaculate marble floors of the Moretti mansion.

The lingering tension of the previous night had dissipated, replaced by a profound, orderly calm that settled deep into the bones of the historic estate.

I stood in the grand library, carefully dusting the mahogany shelves with a soft microfiber cloth while wearing a brand-new pair of designer prescription glasses that fit my face perfectly, leaving zero pressure points against the bridge of my nose.

The cut beneath my left eye had already begun to heal neatly under Dr. Harris's specialized medicated ointment, leaving only a faint, nearly invisible line.

Mrs. Carter walked into the library carrying a silver tray with two steaming porcelain cups of freshly brewed dark roast coffee.

She stopped beside me, offering a warm, maternal smile that reached all the way to her kind, crinkling eyes.

You're working too hard again, Megan, she teased gently, handing me one of the cups.

Mr. Moretti specifically instructed that you take it easy for at least the rest of the week.

I took the cup gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my fingers.

I'm fine, Mrs. Carter, really, I smiled back.

Compared to yesterday, I feel like I'm living in a completely different world.

Before Mrs. Carter could reply, the heavy mahogany double doors of the library swung open once more.

Luca Moretti walked into the room, dressed in a sharp navy blazer and crisp white shirt, looking completely rested despite having slept less than three hours.

He dismissed Mrs. Carter with a polite nod, leaving the two of us alone in the vast, sunlit space where the entire nightmare had begun less than twenty-four hours earlier.

He walked slowly down the center aisle of the bookshelves, stopping right beside the exact spot where my glasses had been smashed the afternoon before.

He looked down at the polished floorboards, then raised his grey eyes to meet mine.

How is your face feeling today, Megan? he asked, his voice calm and steady.

It's healing very well, sir, thanks to Dr. Harris and... and thanks to you, I replied, lowering my gaze respectfully.

Luca reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, heavy cream-colored envelope, placing it gently on the wooden edge of the reading table between us.

What is this, Mr. Moretti? I asked, frowning in confusion.

He slid the envelope across the polished wood toward my fingertips.

An official promotion, he said simply.

Starting Monday morning, Vanessa's former position as the estate's chief administrative coordinator and executive relations manager is officially vacant.

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widening in sheer disbelief.

Sir... I... I'm just a banquet server, I stammered.

I don't have a college degree in business administration or high-society management.

You possess something far more valuable than a framed diploma, Megan, Luca interrupted softly, his gaze locking onto mine with unwavering intensity.

You possess absolute integrity, a sharp, uncorrupted mind, and the courage to stand up for what is right even when everyone else around you is looking the other way.

He stepped closer, his expression softening into a rare, genuine smile.

The Moretti estate needs someone who notices the small details that other people consider too insignificant to matter.

And as for your financial situation, your salary will be adjusted to reflect your new responsibilities, and your mother's medical debt in Ohio has already been settled in full through the estate's philanthropic foundation.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the crisp lines of my new glasses, but this time, they were tears of overwhelming relief and profound gratitude.

Thank you, Mr. Moretti, I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

I won't let you down.

I know you won't, Megan, he replied quietly, turning toward the tall arched windows that overlooked the sparkling waters of Lake Michigan.

Now, finish your coffee... we have an entire household to run.CHAPTER 6 — THE BELLINI ULTIMATUM

The midday sun was completely obscured by heavy, slate-grey clouds as a motorcade of three black luxury sedans tore past the security gates of the Moretti estate.

The sleek vehicles didn't bother to wait for clearance, their tires hissing aggressively against the wet asphalt of the grand driveway before slamming to a halt right outside the main portico.

The rear door of the lead car flew open, and Senator Victor Bellini stepped out into the cold Chicago air.

He was a towering, imposing figure in a bespoke charcoal overcoat, his silver hair impeccably styled, and his expression twisted into a mask of calculated fury.

Two armed private bodyguards flanked him instantly, their hands resting inside their coats as they scanned the surrounding perimeter with practiced hostility.

Inside the grand library, where I was organizing the newly sorted financial ledgers at my mahogany desk, the sudden commotion immediately drew my attention.

Mrs. Carter stepped out from the inner hallway, her face tightening with quiet concern as she looked through the arched glass windows toward the front steps.

Trouble has arrived, Mrs. Carter murmured, her voice laced with bitter resignation.

That is Senator Bellini, Vanessa's father, and he looks like he's ready to declare open war.

Before I could reply, the heavy front doors of the mansion banged open, echoing through the marble foyer with deafening force.

Where is my daughter? Senator Bellini's booming voice reverberated through the high-ceilinged entrance hall, demanding an audience with the master of the house.

Luca Moretti stepped out of his private study across the hall, moving with an unhurried, terrifying grace.

He wore a simple black turtleneck and tailored trousers, his hands resting casually in his pockets as he looked down at the enraged politician from the top of the grand staircase.

Your daughter is miles away from this estate, Senator, Luca replied, his voice unnervingly calm and quiet.

And if you value your political career and your personal freedom, you will lower your voice inside my home.

Victor Bellini marched halfway up the steps, his face flushing a deep, mottled crimson with sheer rage.

Don't play your underworld games with me, Luca! My daughter called me in hysterics last night, claiming your thugs dragged her out of her room, confiscated her personal belongings, and threw her out into the storm like a common criminal!

She was not treated like a common criminal, Luca corrected coldly, descending the steps until he stood mere feet away from the older man.

She was treated with far more mercy than a professional grifter and embezzler deserved.

Embezzler? Bellini scoffed, though a flicker of genuine panic crossed his eyes before he quickly masked it with arrogance.

Are you completely out of your mind? Vanessa is an elite society heiress, not some street thief!

She attempted to loot my father's safe, she stole confidential estate keys, she framed my lifelong head housekeeper for a fabricated crime, and she conspired with an Evanston employment agency to install a false replacement while orchestrating my liquidation, Luca recited, each word dropping like a lead weight.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick manila folder, and tossed it carelessly onto the marble console table beside them.

Inside you will find Swiss bank records, Zurich wire transfer receipts, and the confession of Patricia Wells detailing every single cent Vanessa siphoned from your own political campaign funds to cover her Monaco gambling debts.

The senator froze, his hand hovering over the edge of the table as the terrible reality of the dossier hit him like a physical blow.

He slowly opened the folder, his eyes scanning the certified financial documents and legal warrants with growing horror.

This... this is fabricated, Bellini stammered, his authoritarian facade instantly crumbling into dust.

These are forgeries created by your syndicate lawyers to cover up your own brutality against my family!

Your daughter's own handwriting is on the withdrawal slips, Victor, Luca interrupted quietly, leaning in close so that only the senator could hear his next words.

You can take your security detail, get back into your car, and quietly accept that your daughter's grand scam has failed completely.

Or you can stay, force me to hand these exact documents over to federal prosecutors and the national press tonight, and watch your entire political dynasty collapse before the weekend.

The heavy silence in the foyer was absolute, broken only by the distant patter of rain against the glass dome overhead.

Senator Bellini looked at the man standing before him—a man who owned half the city and feared no one—and realized he had completely lost the battle.

His shoulders slumped, the formidable politician shrinking visibly beneath the crushing weight of his daughter's greed.

If... if I leave quietly, Bellini whispered hoarsely, choking on his own words, what happens to Vanessa?

She is already on a private cargo flight heading overseas, Luca said coldly.

She will never set foot in Chicago, or anywhere near my business interests, ever again.

And if she tries to return?

Then she will face charges that will ensure she spends the rest of her natural life behind bars, Luca replied without a single trace of emotion.

Now, walk out of my house before I change my mind about your own involvement in her accounts.

Without another word, Senator Bellini turned on his heel, his head bowed, and walked out the heavy oak doors, followed closely by his bewildered bodyguards.

As the black sedans reversed down the driveway and disappeared into the gray mist, Luca stood alone in the foyer for a long moment.