“GET THAT OLD WOMAN BACK UPSTAIRS! AND IF YOU CAN'T FOLLOW SIMPLE ORDERS

By two o'clock in the morning, the mansion had been transformed into a fortress.

Armed guards patrolled every corridor, dogs roamed the perimeter grounds, and floodlights illuminated the perimeter fence like daylight. Down in the medical wing, Dr. Vance had drawn blood from Teresa, confirming what we all dreaded: low-grade doses of a synthetic paralytic, slowly administered over months to mimic the long-term cognitive deterioration of a stroke victim.

Vanessa hadn't just tried to kidnap Sophie; she had systematically been turning Teresa into a living corpse so she couldn't warn Luca about her schemes.

Upstairs on the third floor, the house was completely silent.

Sophie refused to let go of me. Even after a warm bath, dry pajamas, and a cup of chamomile tea, the little girl’s fingers remained tangled in the fabric of my apron. Every time I made a move toward the bedroom door, her breath would catch, her eyes welling with panic.

"Stay, Hannah," she whispered from beneath her pink down comforter, clutching her bear. "Please don't let her come back."

"She’s never coming back, sweetheart," I promised softly, sitting on the edge of her mattress and brushing damp curls away from her forehead. "Your daddy threw her out. The guards won't let anyone near you. And I’m right here."

"Sing the song," Sophie mumbled, her eyelids growing heavy. "The one about the stars over the ocean."

I smiled gently, my heart aching with love for this motherless girl. I began to sing softly, an old lullaby my own mother used to hum to me when I was small and scared of the thunder. Within minutes, Sophie’s breathing deepened, her grip on my apron slackened, and she slipped into a safe, dreamless sleep.

I gently eased myself off the bed, tucking the blanket around her shoulders.

I quietly slipped out into the dimly lit hallway, gently pulling the heavy door closed until the latch clicked.

"You have a beautiful voice."

I gasped, spinning around, my hand flying to my chest.

Luca was leaning against the wood-paneled wall opposite Sophie’s room. He had showered and changed into a simple black cashmere sweater and dark trousers, though the dark circles under his eyes spoke of pure exhaustion. In his hand, he held an unlit cigar.

"Mr. Moretti," I stammered, smoothing down my wrinkled apron. "I... I’m sorry. I didn't hear you."

"Don't apologize," he said, pushing himself off the wall and walking slowly toward me. The scent of sandalwood and rain clung to him. "You’ve spent the last six hours saving my entire family. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me."

I lowered my eyes, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. "I only did what anyone would do."

"No," Luca said, stopping just two feet in front of me. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "Vanessa’s maids, the cooks, the drivers—they all looked the other way. They took their paychecks and ignored the cruelty because they were terrified of her. You didn't."

He reached out, his thumb gently brushing across my wrist, right where Teresa had held on to me earlier. His touch was warm, sending a strange, electric shiver through my veins.

"My mother told Dr. Vance that you spent an hour with her every night," Luca whispered, his voice deep and rough. "Massaging her hands. Teaching her to speak again with flashcards. Why, Hannah? You weren't paid for that."

I swallowed, blinking away sudden tears. "My mother had a stroke three years ago, Mr. Moretti. I know what it looks like when a mind is trapped inside a body that won't cooperate. I saw the light in your mother’s eyes the first week I started working here. She wasn't gone. She was just screaming behind a locked door, and nobody was bothering to turn the key."

Luca stared down at me, his dark eyes shimmering with an emotion so raw it took my breath away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope, offering it to me.

I looked down at it. "What is this?"

"A bonus. Two hundred thousand dollars," he said simply. "For saving Sophie. For saving my mother."

My stomach tightened. I stepped back, crossing my arms over my chest and shaking my head.

"I don't want your money, Mr. Moretti."

Luca frowned, clearly confused. In his world, money solved every problem and bought every soul. "Hannah, you told me your mother is sick. You work eighty hours a week between this house and the diner downtown to pay for her physical therapy. Take it."

"If I take that money," I said, looking directly into his fierce, haunted eyes, "then what I did tonight becomes a transaction. I didn't protect Sophie because you’re a rich, powerful boss. I protected her because I love that little girl. And I didn't help your mother for a payout. I helped her because she deserved to be treated like a human being in her own home."

Luca stood frozen. For several seconds, the only sound was the distant wind howling outside the mansion.

Slowly, his hand lowered, returning the envelope to his pocket. A strange, reverent softness transformed the harsh lines of his face.

"No one has ever refused my money," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes.

"Then you’ve been surrounding yourself with the wrong people, Mr. Moretti."

A faint, self-deprecating smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Clearly." He took half a step closer, close enough that I could feel the radiant heat of his body in the chilly corridor. "From this moment on, you don't clean floors in this house, Hannah. You are Sophie’s personal guardian. And my mother’s head of care. You’ll have rooms in the master wing."

My eyes widened. "Mr. Moretti, that’s not necessary—"

"It is necessary," he said, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked no argument, yet held an undeniable intimacy. "Because the Bellinis will retaliate. War is coming to Chicago, Hannah. And the only people I trust to keep my family alive... are inside this hallway."

He reached out, his fingers lightly grazing my jawline, tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind my ear. His touch lingered for a fraction of a second, his skin calloused and hot against my cheek.