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.

By Saturday night, the Moretti estate had returned to a deep, peaceful stillness that contrasted sharply with the chaotic whirlwind of the past week.

The rain had finally cleared, leaving behind a crisp, clear autumn night filled with the bright twinkle of stars over Lake Michigan.

Everyone in the household had long since retired to their quarters, leaving only the soft, ambient hum of the estate's advanced security systems echoing through the quiet corridors.

However, inside my newly renovated office on the second floor, I was still wide awake.

Determined to prove my absolute worth to Luca and ensure every single financial audit was airtight before Monday morning's board meeting, I continued reviewing the final batch of shipping reconciliations under the warm glow of my desk lamp.

Surrounding me were neat stacks of audited ledgers, encrypted flash drives, and my favorite cup of chamomile tea.

Suddenly, a low, barely audible electronic chime echoed softly from the security monitoring console installed in the corner of my office.

I frowned, looking up from my paperwork.

The console displayed a live infrared schematic of the estate's perimeter and interior zones.

A tiny, pulsing amber light was blinking rhythmically in the restricted eastern archive wing—an area reserved exclusively for the family's historical ledgers and rare manuscripts, located directly beneath the private master suites.

My breath hitched in my throat.

Staff members were strictly forbidden from entering the eastern archive wing after midnight without direct authorization from Luca himself.

Could it be a system glitch? I whispered to myself, leaning closer to the screen.

Before I could second-guess my instincts, a second amber light blinked on the floor below the archive room—someone was attempting to bypass the biometric keypad leading directly into Luca's private study.

Panic surged through my chest, cold and sharp.

Gregory Vance was locked in a holding facility downtown, and Vanessa Bellini was thousands of feet in the air over the Atlantic Ocean.

So who on earth was trying to break into the private study at midnight?

I knew I should pick up the red encrypted intercom phone and call the security guard station immediately.

Instead, I remembered how Vanessa had exploited the household's blind spots because everyone assumed the administrative staff were helpless and oblivious.

If I called the guards directly from the main desk, the intruder might hear the ringing alert and escape through the hidden service tunnels before security could deploy.

I quietly stood up from my desk, smoothing down my skirt.

I reached into my top drawer, pulled out a small, heavy brass paperweight, and slipped it into the pocket of my blazer as a makeshift weapon.

With cautious, silent footsteps, I crept out of my office and slipped into the darkened hallway.

The second-floor corridor was bathed in the pale, ethereal moonlight streaming through the large arched stained-glass windows.

I crept stealthily toward the grand curved staircase that led down to the main foyer and the private study doors.

As I reached the landing, I heard a faint, metallic scraping sound coming from the direction of the study.

Someone was using a specialized lock-picking kit on the reinforced steel door.

I pressed my back flat against the cool mahogany paneling of the hallway wall, holding my breath as I peered around the corner.

Kneeling in front of the heavy study door was a figure dressed entirely in black tactical gear, a dark balaclava obscuring their face, holding a glowing digital decoder pad against the biometric scanner.

It wasn't a professional assassin or a rival syndicate enforcer.

From the slight build and hurried movements, it was clearly someone trying to quietly retrieve something left behind in the rush of the previous days.

My mind raced, connecting the dots instantly.

It was someone tied to Patricia Wells' employment agency—someone sent to recover the cryptographic flash drive or destroy any remaining evidence linking the agency to Vanessa's conspiracy.

I knew I couldn't overpower a trained intruder in physical combat.

I needed to use my knowledge of the estate's architecture to trap them before they realized they were being watched.

I quietly slipped back toward the service alcove behind the staircase, where the manual circuit breaker panel for the eastern wing was located.

With a silent, deliberate motion, I reached out and threw the master circuit breaker switch down into the OFF position.

In a fraction of a second, the entire eastern wing and main foyer plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.

A sharp gasp of surprise echoed from the hallway as the intruder's digital decoder pad blinked out of existence.

What the—? a muffled voice cursed in the dark.

Before the intruder could recover their bearings, I bolted toward the security alarm manual pull station mounted beside the service pantry, slamming my palm down hard against the glass emergency trigger.

WREEE-OOO! WREEE-OOO!

The deafening shriek of the estate's high-security intruder alarm shattered the silence of the night, instantly flooding the corridors with blinding emergency strobe lights.