I almost made it to the table. Six more steps. That was all I needed. My name is Claire Dawson. I was twenty-eight, worked as a housemaid in Luca Moretti’s Chicago

A month passed.

Autumn arrived in Chicago with crisp wind and golden leaves scattering across the city parks.

At the West Chicago Rehabilitation Center, Leo Dawson stood between two parallel metallic bars in the physical therapy room. His face was soaked with sweat, his knuckles white as he gripped the rails.

With a deep, guttural breath, he lifted his right foot, stepped forward, and placed it firmly on the rubber mat. Then he lifted his left foot.

He was walking.

Standing near the doorway, watching with tears streaming down her face, was Claire. Her hand was no longer bandaged; only faint, thin scars remained on her fingers, and her mobility had completely returned.

Beside her stood Luca, wearing an overcoat, watching the young man's progress with a quiet, proud smile.

"He's strong," Luca remarked softly. "Like his sister."

"Dr. Thorne says he'll be able to walk without the bars by Christmas," Claire said, wiping her cheek with her sleeve. "He wants to go back to finish his degree in accounting."

"He already has a job waiting for him," Luca said, turning to her. "In my senior auditing department. Once he graduates, he'll be head of forensic accounts."

Claire looked up at Luca, her heart swelling with an emotion that had been growing steadily over the past four weeks.

They had been spending almost every evening together. Not as employer and maid—Claire had officially resigned from domestic staff three weeks ago—but as two people whose lives had been forged together in the fire of betrayal.

They had shared dinners in small, quiet Italian bistros where no one knew his name, walked along the chilly shores of Lake Michigan, and spent hours talking about everything from their childhoods to their dreams for the future.

As they walked out of the medical center into the crisp afternoon air, Marcus pulled the black sedan up to the curb.

Suddenly, a loud, sharp voice echoed from the shadowed alleyway beside the building.

"Claire!"

Claire froze, turning her head.

Stepping out from the darkness of the alley was a woman wearing a faded trench coat, her hair messy, her face thin and pale.

It was Vanessa Bellini.

She looked nothing like the glamorous heiress who had commanded the Moretti mansion month prior. She was out on temporary medical bail, awaiting trial, her family's fortune completely stripped away.

In her shaking right hand, Vanessa held a heavy nickel-plated revolver aimed directly at Claire’s chest.

"You ruined my life!" Vanessa screamed, her eyes wild with unhinged insanity. "You dirty little maid! You took everything from me!"

Marcus reached for his weapon, but Vanessa shrieked, "Don't move or I'll blow her heart out!"

Luca didn't hesitate. Before Vanessa could pull the trigger, he stepped directly in front of Claire, using his massive six-foot-two frame as a human shield.