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.

The massive projector screens that flanked the ballroom—originally set up to display a nostalgic montage of Luca and Vanessa’s courtship—flickered to life.

Instead of romantic strolls through Lake Forest, the screens illuminated high-definition security footage from the Moretti estate.

The crowd gasped in horror.

There, displayed twenty feet high, was the footage from the upstairs linen closet. The entire room watched in stunned, nauseated silence as Vanessa Bellini cornered me, twisted my arm, slammed my hand into the iron shelving, and locked me in the dark.

Before the room could even process the assault, the screens cut to the four photographs Claire had salvaged from the micro-SD card.

Julian Pierce kneeling at Luca’s desk.

Julian removing the offshore trusts.

Vanessa and Julian embracing in the east corridor.

And finally, the crystal-clear close-up of the blue dossier, showing Julian’s handwriting scrawled in bold red ink:

**DO IT BEFORE HE SAYS I DO.**

Cries of outrage and disbelief erupted from the tables. Several prominent board members rose to their feet in disgust. A Chicago police commissioner sitting near the front table reached for his radio.

Julian’s eyes bulged with primal, cornered panic.

"It’s a lie!" Julian shouted, his voice cracking hysterically over the microphone on the podium. "It’s fabricated! Luca’s paranoid! He set me up because he’s losing his grip on the company!"

He backed away from the stage, turning toward the private service exit near the kitchens.

"Julian," Luca said, his voice cutting through the roar of the room like a sonic boom.

Julian didn't stop. He shoved past a terrified waiter, knocking a tray of crystal glasses to the floor with an explosive shatter, and sprinted down the service hallway.

"Claire, stay with Marcus," Luca commanded, his eyes blazing.

"Luca, be careful!" I cried, my heart seizing with dread. "He’s desperate!"

Luca was already moving. He vaulted off the edge of the stage with terrifying agility, shedding his tuxedo jacket in a single motion as he gave chase into the dim labyrinth of the Drake Hotel’s back corridors.

I couldn't stay behind. Ignoring Marcus’s shouts, I gathered the heavy emerald silk of my gown in my uninjured hand and ran into the service corridor.

The back hallway smelled of damp concrete, industrial bleach, and fear.

Far ahead, metal doors clanged open. Footsteps echoed up a metal spiral staircase leading to the hotel’s private rooftop terrace.

I pushed through the fire doors, breathing hard, the cool night air hitting my face as I stepped out onto the vast, windswept rooftop overlooking the glittering expanse of Michigan Avenue and the dark, churning waters of Lake Michigan below.

Rain began to fall again—heavy, cold drops that plastered my hair to my neck.

Near the ledge of the roof stood Julian.

His tuxedo was disheveled, his silk tie ripped open. He was backed against the stone balustrade, forty stories above the street.

And in his right hand was a compact, snub-nosed revolver.

"Stay back, Luca!" Julian screamed into the howling wind, leveling the barrel directly at Luca’s chest. "I swear to God, I’ll pull the trigger!"

Luca walked forward through the rain. He didn't slow down. He didn't flinch. His white dress shirt was soaked against his broad shoulders, his dark eyes locked onto Julian with the cold, immovable inevitability of an ocean liner cutting through ice.

"Put the gun down, Julian," Luca said, his voice entirely steady over the roar of the wind. "It’s over. Federal agents have already seized the offshore escrow accounts. The mechanic you hired to rig the *Morpheus* was arrested at O'Hare five hours ago."

Julian let out a ragged, broken laugh that bordered on madness. "You always had to win, didn't you? Even when we were kids! You had the name, you had the empire, you had the old man’s respect! I gave ten years of my life to your company, Luca! Ten years picking up your scraps!"

"I made you vice-president," Luca replied, taking another slow, measured step forward. "I gave you twenty percent of the shipping revenues. I treated you like a brother."

"And you were going to marry that viper Vanessa!" Julian screamed, his hand shaking violently against the steel frame of the gun. "She was supposed to be mine! We had a deal! Fifty-fifty on the entire estate once your yacht hit open water!"

"Julian, look behind you," Luca said quietly.

Through the rain, the heavy rooftop access doors swung open. Marcus and six armed federal marshals spilled onto the gravel roof, laser sights painting bright red dots across Julian’s chest and forehead.

"Drop the weapon, Pierce!" Marcus barked over the storm. "Step away from the ledge!"

Julian looked at the red dots dancing on his chest. He looked down over the forty-story drop into the rain-slicked abyss of Michigan Avenue.

Desperation turned his face feral.

His eyes flicked past Luca—and landed directly on me, standing near the doorway.

"If I’m going down," Julian hissed, his knuckles whitening on the grip, "I’m taking your little pet with me."

He swung the barrel away from Luca and aimed straight at my chest.

Time slowed to a crawling nightmare.

I saw Julian’s finger tighten on the trigger. I saw the muzzle flash through the driving rain.