TAKE THAT RING OFF, YOU LYING LITTLE MAID! MY FIANCÉ'S DEAD BROTHER WOULD NEVER HAVE MARRIED SOMEONE LIKE YOU!

By midday, the Moretti estate had transformed into a fortress.

Black armored Suburbans sat parked at every gate, their engines idling quietly. Armed men in dark suits and tactical gear patrolled the perimeter walls, their assault rifles held low. The tranquil gardens where I had once pulled weeds as a humiliated maid were now guarded by elite private security forces.

Yet inside the master suite, everything was quiet.

Dr. Vance had checked on me three times, administering a second dose of the neutralizing medication. My blood pressure had stabilized, and the terrifying cramps had completely subsided. Chef Antonio had personally brought me a bowl of warm, rich chicken soup and freshly baked sourdough, hovering nervously by the door until I took three bites and told him it was delicious. The elderly Italian chef had wiped a tear from his eye, bowed deeply, and whispered, "For Master Matteo’s boy, Madam. Anything you need."

*Madam.*

The word sounded alien in my ears. Just yesterday, I was scrubbing grease from the banquet ovens, my hands raw from cheap bleach, praying my swollen feet wouldn't give out before midnight. Now, the head chef was calling me Madam, and the most feared man in Chicago was tearing down an empire for me.

The door clicked open, and Leo walked into the bedroom.

He had changed into a dark tactical sweater and black slacks. His gun holster was strapped tightly across his chest, the black grip of a customized Beretta visible under his arm. But the moment his eyes found me sitting propped up against the pillows, the lethal edge melted from his posture.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Better," I said, offering a small, fragile smile. "The baby has been quiet. Just gentle kicks. Dr. Vance says he’s resting."

Leo smiled, a genuine, rare curve of his lips that made him look astonishingly like Matteo. "Good. He needs his strength. He has a lot of Moretti stubbornness to inherit."

I looked at the holster under his arm, my heart fluttering with anxiety. "Leo... what are you going to do?"

Leo looked down at his hands—hands scarred with the remnants of a violent life I had only ever read about in newspapers.

"Thirty minutes ago, our men located Silas Drake," Leo said quietly. "The man from the photograph. The man who came to your apartment after the funeral."

My blood ran cold. The memory of that dark, rainy evening flashed before my eyes: the heavy knock at my door, the tall man with the scarred eyebrow and the smell of stale tobacco, standing in my tiny kitchen, whispering that Matteo had died in debt, warning me that if I ever reached out to the Moretti family, an 'unfortunate accident' might happen to my pregnancy.

"He... he told me Matteo was a criminal," I whispered, my voice trembling. "He told me Matteo owed money to dangerous men."

"Matteo never owed a dime to anyone in his life," Leo said, his voice dropping into that dark, lethal register. "Silas Drake was Richard Romano’s personal fixer. For ten years, Richard used him to silence whistleblowers and intimidate small business owners who refused to sell their commercial properties. Silas was the one who paid the truck driver on Lake Shore Drive."

Leo stood up. "He is in the boathouse at the south end of the estate."

Panic surged through me. I reached out and caught Leo’s wrist.

He stopped instantly, looking down at my small hand against his sleeve. He didn't pull away.

"Leo, please," I begged softly, my eyes filling with fresh tears. "I know what you do. I know who you are. But... don't let them drag you into the dirt. Matteo loved you because your heart was good. He told me you carried the darkness so he could stay in the light. If you throw your life away for revenge... who is going to protect this baby?"

Leo stared at me. For a long moment, the room was so quiet I could hear the rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the hall.

Slowly, Leo reached down and covered my hand with his own. His palm was warm, rough, and solid as bedrock.

"Emma," he said, his voice low and fiercely tender. "I have spent my entire life walking through the fire so my brother wouldn't have to. When he died, I thought the fire had consumed everything I loved. I thought there was nothing left of him in this world."

He looked toward my stomach, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Then you walked into my dining room wearing his ring," he whispered. "You carry his blood. You carry the last piece of Matteo that exists on this earth. Protecting you isn't revenge, Emma. It’s my salvation. I won't throw my life away. I have too much to live for now."

He leaned down and pressed a gentle, reverent kiss to my forehead—a brother’s vow, ancient and unbreakable.

"Rest," he murmured. "I will be back before sunset."

He turned and strode out of the room, Dante closing the doors behind him.

***

The south boathouse sat on the rocky edge of Lake Michigan, surrounded by weeping willows and concrete breakers. Inside, the air smelled of damp wood, lake water, and cold iron.

Silas Drake was strapped securely to a heavy steel chair bolted to the concrete floor.

His expensive designer jacket was torn, his lip split, and one eye swollen shut. Two of Leo’s enforcers stood behind the chair with their arms crossed, their expressions completely devoid of mercy.

The heavy wooden door creaked open. Silas flinched, looking up through his swollen eye.

Leonardo Moretti walked in.

He didn't rush. He didn't yell. He walked over to a workbench, pulled out a pair of black leather driving gloves, and slowly slid them over his long, tattooed fingers, smoothing the leather over each knuckle with terrifying precision.

"Leonardo," Silas gasped, coughing up a spatter of blood onto the concrete. "Listen to me... it was Richard. It was all Richard Romano! He paid me five hundred thousand to set up the hit! He told me the kid was going to blow up the whole family! I was just the middleman!"

Leo walked over and stopped two feet in front of the chair. He looked down at Silas as if the man were a cockroach crawling across a kitchen tile.

"You went to my brother’s apartment," Leo said softly.

Silas swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Richard told me to scare the girl! Just scare her so she wouldn't talk to you! I didn't lay a hand on her, I swear to God!"

"You stood in my brother’s home," Leo continued, his voice as smooth as black ice. "You looked at his grieving, pregnant widow. A woman who was twenty-six years old, utterly alone in the world, carrying my brother’s child. And you threatened to kill that baby."

"I was following orders!" Silas shrieked, struggling against the heavy zip-ties cutting into his wrists. "Richard said he would ruin me if I didn't! He’s the one who wanted the baby for Bianca! He told me Bianca’s whole inheritance depended on having an heir!"

Leo leaned down, bringing his face inches from Silas’s terrified gaze.

"Where is Richard now?"

"The private airfield in Gary, Indiana," Silas blurted out, trembling so violently his teeth chattered. "Hangar Four! He has a Gulfstream fueled and ready for a flight to Costa Rica! He’s leaving at midnight with Bianca! They have twenty million in bearer bonds in two aluminum cases!"

Leo stared into the man’s eyes for three seconds, reading the absolute terror in his soul, confirming the truth of every syllable.

Leo straightened his posture. He turned toward Marco.

"Call the Gary airport authority," Leo commanded. "Inform them that Richard Romano’s private jet has been flagged for federal financial fraud. Anthony has already secured the emergency federal warrants. Have Cook County SWAT and the FBI surround Hangar Four."

Silas blinked in stunned disbelief. "You... you’re calling the cops?"

Leo glanced back at him, a cold, mocking smile touching the corner of his lips.

"You thought I was going to execute you in a boathouse?" Leo murmured. "No, Silas. Death is far too easy for what you did to Matteo."

Leo pulled off his leather gloves, tossing them onto the workbench.

"You and Richard Romano are going to spend the next forty years in a federal supermax facility in Florence, Colorado. Twenty-three hours a day in a concrete box, with no light, no money, and no hope. And every single day, you will remember that you are there because you touched the family of Leonardo Moretti."

Leo turned to Marco. "Hand him over to the federal marshals waiting at the gate. Make sure his confession is recorded on video three times."

"Yes, Boss."

Leo walked out of the boathouse, stepping into the crisp autumn evening air. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of gold and violet.

He looked toward the main manor, where the warm amber light shone from the master suite on the second floor.