They dragged my maid into the center of my mansion and branded her a thief in front of everyone—but the necklace beneath her collar exposed the accusation as a trap. She wasn’t an ordinary servant. She was the last living witness to the betrayal that slaughtered my family and turned me into the man everyone feared.

I returned to my private study at four in the morning. The secret door behind the bookshelf opened, and Clara stepped out, holding sleeping Sofia in her arms. Brutus trotted out behind them, shaking his dark coat and resting his head against my leg.

"Is it over?" Clara asked softly, her face filled with anxiety.

"The immediate threat to this house is neutralized," I said, walking over to my desk. "Renata is in custody. But your former employer—Vittorio—is waiting at Pier 42."

Clara set sleeping Sofia down on the leather sofa, wrapping a warm fleece blanket around the little girl's shoulders, before turning back to face me.

"Lorenzo... if Vittorio knows I'm alive, he won't rest until he gets the steel canister," she said, her voice heavy with grave concern.

"Where is it, Clara?" I asked directly. "You've kept it hidden for fifteen years. Where did you put it?"

Clara reached down, pulled a small silver key from inside her shoe, and set it on my desk.

"When I fled Lake Como, I didn't know who to trust," she explained, staring at the tiny key. "Your father told me to take it to a private safety deposit box at the First National Bank of Chicago—account number 7741. I deposited the canister there fourteen years ago. The account was set up under my maiden name. Every month, I used a fraction of my small savings to pay the box maintenance fee."

I picked up the tiny silver key, feeling its cold weight in my hand.

Inside that bank vault sat the evidence that could unmask every corrupt politician, every dirty judge, and every traitor who had participated in the destruction of my family. It wasn't just a collection of ledgers—it was the ultimate weapon.

"Vittorio doesn't know you deposited it in Chicago," I said, processing the strategy. "He thinks you still have it on your person or hidden somewhere here in the state."

"He'll torture anyone to get it," Clara whispered, stepping closer to me. "Lorenzo, he's a monster. When he worked for your father, he was soft-spoken and polite, but behind closed doors, he was a sociopath. He enjoyed the blood."

"I know," I said, my gaze locking onto hers. "That's why I'm going to drop the bait right in his lap."

I picked up my desk phone and dialed my private contact at the Chicago banking firm.

"This is Lorenzo Duca," I said into the receiver. "I need an immediate private courier transport arranged from the First National Bank of Chicago to my estate in Connecticut. Tell your vault manager to pull safety deposit box 7741."

I paused, making sure my voice carried across the room, knowing that even in my secure mansion, cellular lines could be intercepted by high-level surveillance equipment.

"I want the canister delivered directly to Pier 42 at dawn," I lied intentionally into the phone, creating a fake transmission. "My team will secure the transfer there."

I hung up the phone and looked at Clara.

"He's listening to my bank communications," I explained softly. "Within ten minutes, Vittorio's interceptors will catch that routing message. He'll think he's intercepting the canister at the pier before it ever reaches my hands."