Luca thought Vanessa’s secret involved stolen documents, until security identified the mysterious man in the fourth photograph as his own best man—and found his wedding date written on the document.

Night fell over the Moretti estate like a thick velvet shroud. A summer thunderstorm was rolling in off Lake Michigan, rattling the heavy leaded windows of the fourth-floor master suite.

Luca had been called down to the library for an emergency conference call with his maritime attorneys, leaving two armed security officers stationed discreetly at the end of the east corridor.

I stood in the opulent bathroom of the guest suite, staring at my reflection in the gilded mirror. The bruises on my wrist had turned a sickly shade of yellow and dark violet. Every throb of pain was a sharp reminder of the hatred in Vanessa’s eyes when she twisted my fingers against the iron shelf.

I dried my face with a warm towel and stepped out into the bedroom.

The room was pitch black.

The bedside lamps were out. The storm outside flashed, illuminating a silhouette standing in the corner beside the heavy drapes.

My heart vaulted into my throat. "Who’s there?"

A woman’s voice, sharp and venomous, sliced through the shadows. "You really thought you could climb into his bed, didn't you, little rat?"

Vanessa stepped forward into the pale flash of lightning.

She wasn't wearing her elegant evening gown. She wore dark silk trousers and an oversized coat, her hair pulled back into a severe knot. In her right hand, she held a heavy brass paperweight taken from the corridor table.

Panic locked my muscles. "How did you get in here? The doors—"

"The service keycards," Vanessa sneered, closing the distance between us with predatory grace. "You forget, darling. I’ve been running this house for six months. I know every skeleton key the cleaning staff uses."

I backed away toward the nightstand, keeping my injured arm close to my chest. "Get out of here, Vanessa. Luca will be back in five minutes."

"Luca is on a call with Tokyo that Julian arranged specifically to keep him busy for forty-five minutes," she whispered, her eyes manic and bloodshot. "Do you think you’re clever, Claire? You think because he bought you a nice sweater and gave you a splint, he cares about you?"

"I know what you and Julian are doing," I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking as I reached behind me for the telephone on the nightstand. "I know about the yacht. I know about the bearer bonds."

Vanessa’s expression twisted into an ugly, triumphant mask. "Of course you do. That’s why you have to leave. Tonight."

She lunged forward.

Before I could lift the receiver, Vanessa grabbed my injured left forearm and twisted it violently.

Agony exploded behind my eyes—a white-hot bolt of pain that dropped me straight to my knees. A scream tore from my throat, but Vanessa slammed her left hand over my mouth, pinning my head against the side of the mahogany bedpost.

"Shut up!" she hissed into my ear, her breath hot and rancid with cheap gin. "You scream, and I’ll break the other three fingers. You’re leaving this house right now. Julian has a car waiting at the service gate. You’re getting in the trunk, or I will make sure your body washes up in the Gary shipping canal before sunrise."

Tears streamed down my cheeks. The pain in my fractured bones was unbearable, making my vision swim with black spots. I fought for breath, trying to claw at her wrists with my free hand, but she had the leverage.

"You’re nothing," Vanessa spat, leaning down until her lips brushed my ear. "Just a filthy maid whose mother died begging for scraps from the Moretti table. You don't belong in this world. You—"

The heavy oak door didn't just open.

It exploded off its latch with a deafening crack that shook the entire room.

A massive hand reached through the darkness, gripped the collar of Vanessa’s coat, and hurled her across the bedroom like a ragdoll.

Vanessa struck the wall with a sickening thud, crying out as she collapsed onto the plush carpet.

The bedroom lights flicked on, blindingly bright.

Luca stood in the center of the room. His face was completely devoid of color, his chest heaving, his dark eyes burning with an unholy, terrifying rage that I had never seen in another human being.

Behind him stood Marcus Vance and two armed private guards, their sidearms drawn and aimed directly at Vanessa.

"Touch her again," Luca said, his voice dropping into a guttural, lethal whisper, "and you won't survive long enough to see the inside of a courtroom."

Vanessa scrambled backward against the baseboard, clutching her bruised shoulder, her polished facade completely shattered. "Luca! She attacked me! She tried to steal my jewelry from the dressing room, and when I confronted her—"

"Shut your mouth," Luca roared.

The sheer volume of his voice made the crystal chandelier tremble overhead. Vanessa shrank against the wall, her lips trembling, genuine terror finally dawning in her eyes.

Luca knelt beside me. The furious monster vanished in an instant, replaced by a tenderness so profound it made my chest ache. He gently gathered me into his arms, lifting me off the floor as if I weighed nothing at all.

"I’ve got you," he whispered against my hair, his large hand cradling the back of my head. "I’ve got you, Claire. You're safe."

I buried my face into his neck, clinging to his shirt, trembling so hard my teeth chattered. The scent of cedarwood, rain, and expensive tobacco surrounded me, an impenetrable fortress against the cruelty of the world.

Luca looked over his shoulder at Marcus.

"Take Ms. Bellini to the wine cellar," Luca ordered, his voice returning to that terrifying, flat tone. "Strip her of her phone, her keys, and her jewelry. Station two men outside the steel door. If she makes a sound, gag her."

"Luca, you can't do this!" Vanessa shrieked as the guards hauled her to her feet. "My father is a senator’s donor! You can't lock me in a basement! Julian will hear about this!"

Luca stood up, still holding me securely against his chest. He turned his cold, pitiless gaze upon his former fiancée.