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

Winter arrived in Chicago with a fierce, howling vengeance.

Lake Michigan froze along the shoreline, turning the water into jagged plates of blue-white ice that groaned against the concrete breakers. Snow blanketed the Moretti estate, burying the gardens and winding driveways under three feet of pristine, glistening powder.

Inside the estate, the massive stone fireplaces crackled with seasoned hickory logs, filling the grand library with warmth and the comforting scent of woodsmoke.

Little Matteo was four months old now.

He was growing rapidly, his cheeks round and rosy, his dark eyes alert and curious. He loved sitting propped up against pillows on the leather sofa, watching the flickering flames while Leo read aloud from old history books.

It had become their evening ritual.

Every night at seven o'clock, no matter what business awaited him in the city, Leo returned to the estate. He would immediately shed his heavy wool coat, wash his hands, and take little Matteo into his arms, carrying the boy on his shoulder through the library while talking to him about shipping logistics, ancient architecture, and how to properly change the oil in a vintage sports car.

"He's four months old, Leo," I laughed, walking into the library carrying a tray of hot chocolate. "I don't think he’s ready to rebuild a carburetor just yet."

Leo turned, little Matteo perched securely on his broad forearm, chewing happily on a silicone teething ring. Leo grinned, that rare, boyish smile that always made him look so much like his brother.

"A Moretti must understand machinery, Emma," Leo declared with mock seriousness. "Matteo’s father made the mistake of letting him become an accountant. Look where that led—he couldn't even assemble an IKEA crib without three extra bolts left over."

"Hey!" I teased, setting the tray on the coffee table. "Matteo spent three days on that crib. It was slightly crooked, but it was built with love."

"It was a structural hazard," Leo chuckled, sitting down on the sofa and settling little Matteo onto his lap. "Don't worry, little man. Your uncle has already commissioned a master carpenter in Milan to build your toddler bed. Solid oak. It could withstand an artillery strike."

I sat beside them, wrapping my hands around the warm mug of cocoa, watching the two of them.

Over the past four months, the phantom shadows of fear that had haunted me for so long had begun to fade. I no longer jumped at loud noises. I no longer checked the locks on my bedroom door three times before sleeping. In Leonardo’s presence, fear simply couldn't survive.

A soft knock sounded at the library door.

Anthony stepped inside, his expression serious. He carried a leather dossier under his arm.

"Leonardo," Anthony said, his tone cautious. "The Commission has requested an emergency sit-down at the Drake Hotel tomorrow morning."

Leo’s smile faded slightly, replaced by that cool, calculating calm I had grown accustomed to. He gently adjusted the blanket around little Matteo before looking up.

"On what grounds?" Leo asked.

"The vacuum left by the Romano collapse," Anthony explained, stepping closer. "Don Carmine Lucchese is claiming that Richard Romano owed his syndicate thirty million dollars in unsecured loans. Lucchese wants the Moretti family to absorb the debt, or surrender the southern shipping docks to compensate his family."

A chill touched the room.

Carmine Lucchese was the oldest don on the Chicago Commission—a ruthless, traditional mafia patriarch who had ruled the southern territory for forty years. He was brutal, calculating, and had long coveted the Moretti family's control of the lake shipping terminals.

"Did Matteo leave any record of a debt to Lucchese?" Leo asked quietly.

"None," Anthony stated firmly. "Richard Romano borrowed the money privately two weeks before his arrest to fund his escape plan. It was an off-the-books gambling and smuggling loan. The Moretti family had no knowledge of it, and no legal or syndicate liability exists under the Commission charter."

Leo looked down at little Matteo, who had dropped his teething ring and was now fascinated by the gold buttons on Leo’s cuff.

"Lucchese knows the debt isn't ours," Leo said, his voice dropping into that chilling, silky tone. "He’s testing us. He thinks that because I dissolved the Romano alliance and brought my brother’s widow into this house, I have gone soft. He thinks I am distracted."

"Will there be trouble, Leo?" I asked, a knot of worry tightening in my chest.

Leo looked up at me. The icy darkness in his eyes vanished the moment his gaze met mine, replaced by absolute serenity.

"No, Emma," Leo said gently. "There will be no trouble. Carmine Lucchese is an old wolf who has forgotten what happens when you challenge a Moretti on his own ground. Tomorrow, I will remind him."

He reached out and gently laid his hand over mine.

"Go to sleep early tonight. Tomorrow, Chef Antonio is making your favorite lemon tarts, and Dante has arranged for the new heated greenhouse to be opened so you and Matteo can walk among the winter roses."

I looked into his steady, dark eyes, feeling the unshakable strength radiating from him.

"Be careful tomorrow, Leo," I whispered.