The apartment door exploded inward in a shower of splinters and cheap wood.
“Chicago PD! Drop the weapon!”
Three uniformed officers poured into the tiny living room, their service weapons drawn and leveled directly at Luca.
I screamed, throwing my hands over my head, instinctively backing into the corner of my destroyed bedroom.
Luca didn’t panic. He didn't raise his gun. With a smooth, terrifyingly calm motion, he placed the 9mm on top of my overturned dresser and slowly raised his empty hands.
“I am unarmed,” Luca said, his voice carrying the calm authority of a man entirely accustomed to violence.
A heavy-set sergeant stepped forward, his gun aimed squarely at Luca’s chest. He looked at Luca’s expensive suit, then at the squalor of my apartment.
“Luca Moretti,” the sergeant said, a sneer curling his lip. “We got an anonymous tip that you were holding a hostage at this address.”
The reversal hit me like a physical blow.
Vanessa hadn’t framed me for robbery. She had framed Luca for kidnapping.
She knew if the police found the boss of the Chicago syndicate in a destroyed apartment with his terrified, bleeding maid, it would be front-page news. It would humiliate him. It would force the capos to call a tribunal to question his leadership.
It was a brilliant, vicious distraction to buy her time to open the vault.
“There’s no hostage here, Sergeant,” Luca said evenly. “This woman is my employee. Her apartment was broken into, and I escorted her here to ensure her safety.”
The sergeant looked at me. He saw my pale face, my torn sleeve, and the bloody handkerchief clutched in my good hand.
“You look real safe, lady. Did he do that to your arm?”
“No!” I cried, stepping out of the bedroom. “He didn't hurt me! We just got here and found the place like this!”
“Save it,” the sergeant barked. He grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and walked toward Luca. “Turn around, Moretti. Hands behind your back.”
Luca didn’t move. He looked at the sergeant, his dark eyes narrowing.
“If you arrest me tonight, Sergeant, my lawyers will have me out in an hour, and you’ll be directing traffic in the suburbs by tomorrow morning.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
The tension in the room was a live wire. If Luca got arrested, Vanessa would have free reign at the estate. She would get the ledgers.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the alley outside my bedroom window.
The sound of a heavy metal dumpster lid slamming shut.
The three cops instinctively flinched, looking toward the window.
In that single second of distraction, Luca moved.
He didn't grab his gun. He grabbed a heavy, brass table lamp from the floor and hurled it directly at the single bare lightbulb hanging from the living room ceiling.
The bulb shattered.
The apartment plunged into pitch darkness.
“Hey!” the sergeant yelled.
“Sophie, move!” Luca’s voice was a harsh whisper right next to my ear.
He grabbed my good arm, hauling me violently toward the bedroom window. The cops were shouting, their flashlights clicking on, beams of light cutting through the dust in the living room.
Luca threw open the bedroom window. The rusty metal fire escape groaned outside.
“Climb,” he ordered, shoving me toward the sill.
I didn't argue. Fear overrode the pain in my arm. I scrambled out the window onto the freezing iron grate. Luca followed a second later, pulling the window shut behind him just as a police flashlight beam swept across the bedroom wall.
“Down,” Luca hissed.
We practically flew down the metal stairs, the iron rattling loudly under our weight. The freezing Chicago wind whipped through my hair, chilling the sweat on my neck.
We hit the alley floor just as Marcus pulled the armored SUV around the corner, the tires screeching on the wet pavement. He threw the back door open.
“Get in!” Marcus yelled.
Luca shoved me into the backseat and dove in after me. Marcus slammed the gas before the door even closed, tearing down the alley and blowing through a red light onto the main avenue.
I collapsed against the leather seat, gasping for air, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
“We just ran from the police,” I choked out. “I’m an accessory to... whatever that was.”
“You’re alive,” Luca said flatly, brushing dust off his suit jacket. “If they had taken me in, Vanessa would have sent someone to silence you in holding.”
I stared at him, the reality of my situation finally sinking in. I wasn't just a maid caught in a family dispute. I was the daughter of the man who almost brought down the syndicate, and I was the only person who knew Vanessa was trying to steal the throne.
I was a liability to everyone.
“Where is the vault?” I asked, my voice shaking.
Luca looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable in the passing streetlights.
“Under the estate,” he said. “In the old prohibition tunnels. Only my father and mother knew the exact location.”
“And now Vanessa knows,” I said. “She has the key. She left the party. She’s probably down there right now.”
“Not yet,” Marcus interrupted from the driver’s seat, his eyes glued to the rearview mirror. “I’ve been monitoring the estate security feed. Vanessa is still in the main hall. She just cut the cake with the mayor. She’s establishing an iron-clad alibi before she makes her move.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. “She’s waiting for the guests to leave. She needs the house empty.”
“Then we beat her to it,” I said.
Both Luca and Marcus looked at me.
“You’re a civilian, Sophie,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register of stern warning. “I am dropping you at a safe house. You are entirely out of your depth.”
“I’m the daughter of an accountant who went into witness protection,” I shot back, surprising myself with the ferocity in my voice. “My mother died terrified, looking over her shoulder every day because of your father. Vanessa destroyed my apartment, crushed my arm, and dragged your mother into an asylum to get what she wants. I am already in this.”
Luca stared at me. For a long moment, the boss of the Chicago family evaluated the maid sitting next to him.
He saw the terror, yes. But he also saw the absolute, furious determination.
“Do you know the layout of the basement?” Luca asked.
“I do laundry down there every Tuesday and Thursday,” I said. “I know every inch.”
Luca nodded once.
“Marcus, kill the headlights. We’re going in through the service entrance.”
Twenty minutes later, the SUV rolled silently to a stop near the back edge of the Moretti estate. The engagement party was still visible through the massive glass windows of the main house. Music drifted softly over the manicured lawns.
We slipped out of the vehicle, sticking to the shadows of the tall hedge maze.
I led Luca toward the old cellar doors hidden behind the greenhouse. The lock was a simple padlock I had the key for on my housekeeping ring.
I fumbled with it, my left arm throbbing, but it clicked open.
We descended into the pitch-black basement, the smell of damp earth and old wine filling the air.
“The prohibition tunnels are behind the false wall in the wine cellar,” Luca whispered, clicking on a small tactical flashlight.
We moved quietly through the rows of dusty bottles until we reached a solid brick wall. Luca felt along the mortar, found a hidden latch, and pushed. A section of the wall swung silently inward.
A narrow, damp tunnel stretched out before us, lit only by the beam of Luca’s flashlight.
We walked for what felt like miles under the earth, the silence oppressive and heavy.
Finally, the tunnel opened into a small, circular stone chamber.
In the center of the room sat a massive, antique iron safe, bolted directly into the bedrock.
Luca stepped forward, shining the light on the heavy metal dial.
At the center of the dial was a small, uniquely shaped keyhole.
The exact shape of my mother’s wedding ring.
But something was wrong.
Luca went perfectly still.
“What is it?” I whispered.
Luca slowly lowered the flashlight.
The beam illuminated the heavy iron door of the safe.
It was already hanging wide open.
And resting inside the empty vault was a red silk scarf.
Vanessa’s scarf.
“She didn't wait for the party to end,” Luca said, his voice sounding like a ghost in the dark chamber. “She already took them.”
Before I could react, a metallic click echoed from the tunnel behind us.
The sound of a gun hammer being pulled back.
“I didn't take them, Luca.”
The voice didn't belong to Vanessa.
I spun around.
Standing in the tunnel entrance, holding a suppressed pistol aimed directly at Luca’s chest, was Marcus.
