The first sound was not applause. It was the hard metallic snap of seven-year-old Sophia Moretti’s wheelchair brake releasing beneath

We left the Harbor Lights Hotel through an underground VIP passage thirty minutes later.

Rain fell in heavy sheets outside, blurring the neon lights of downtown Chicago. A fleet of three black armored SUVs waited in the alley. Luca carried the sleeping Sophia wrapped in his heavy wool overcoat, protecting her frail frame from the cold wind. I walked beside him, flanked by four armed bodyguards.

As we stepped into the back seat of the custom estate vehicle, the luxury was overwhelming—leather seats, tinted bulletproof glass, and a quiet hum that shut out the noise of the city.

Sophia stirred in her father's arms, her eyes fluttering open. When her gaze landed on me sitting across from them, a small, sleepy smile touched her lips.

"Hannah?" she murmured, reaching out her small hand.

I leaned forward immediately, taking her fingers in mine. "I'm right here, sweetie."

"Are you coming to my house?"

I looked up at Luca. He was staring at me, his expression firm and unyielding.

"She’s coming home with us, Sophia," Luca told her softly, resting his hand over ours. "She’s never going away again."

Sophia closed her eyes, letting out a deep sigh of pure content, and fell back asleep.

The drive to the Moretti estate in Lake Forest took forty minutes. The estate was a massive stone mansion surrounded by acres of dark woods and a ten-foot security wall lined with cameras and iron gates. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress built to keep the world at bay.

When we arrived, the house was silent. A private medical team led by Dr. Benton was already waiting in the foyer. They carefully settled Sophia into her ground-floor bedroom suite, ensuring her legs suffered no permanent trauma from her sudden walk across the ballroom floor.

Luca led me up the grand marble staircase to the second floor, stopping outside a heavy oak door.

"This is the master guest suite," he said, pushing the door open.

The room was larger than my entire apartment—a king-sized bed covered in white silk sheets, a stone fireplace burning softly, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rain-swept gardens. A fresh set of clothes and a warm robe had already been placed on the bed by the housekeeping staff.

"Get some rest, Hannah," Luca said softly, standing in the doorway. "Tomorrow morning, my men will retrieve your belongings from your apartment."

"The locket," I said, turning to him. "I should go with them to get the locket."

Luca stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The atmosphere shifted, becoming intimate and heavy with unsaid words.

"We will go together tomorrow," he said, walking closer until he was standing just a foot away from me. "Right now, I want you to feel safe. For three years, you lived in fear because of a letter my crooked lawyer sent you. That ends tonight."

I looked down at my hands, feeling the contrast between my rough, catering-worked fingers and the immense luxury of this room.

"Why are you doing this, Mr. Moretti?" I asked quietly. "You don't know me. You could have just paid me a reward and sent me on my way."

Luca reached out, his long fingers gently lifting my chin until I was forced to look into his dark, piercing eyes.

"Because my daughter hasn't taken a step in three years," Luca said, his voice low and intense. "Every specialist in the country told me her paralysis was psychological—that the trauma of the crash made her brain lock her body away. But tonight, she didn't just walk. She ran to you."

His gaze drifted down to my lips before coming back to my eyes.

"You are the key to my daughter's life, Hannah," he whispered. "And perhaps... to mine."

Before I could process the heat rising in my chest, a rapid knock sounded at the suite door.

Julian stepped inside, holding a glowing tablet, his face grim.

"Boss," Julian said quietly. "We just searched Arthur Vance's private safe at his downtown office."

Luca turned, his tone instantly shifting back to business. "What did you find?"

"It wasn't just Vance and Thomas Vane working together, sir," Julian revealed, handing the tablet to Luca. "There was a secondary set of offshore transfers dated from before the accident. Someone else was paying Vance to leak information about your family's travel routes."

Luca’s eyes narrowed as he read the screen. "Who?"

"Your uncle, Dominick Moretti," Julian said gravely.

My breath hitched. Dominick Moretti was the senior elder of the Moretti crime syndicate—the man who sat at the head of the family council.

"Dominick wanted you out of the way so he could take control of the Chicago docks," Julian explained. "When the crash failed to kill Sophia and you, he used Vance to isolate you, keeping you paranoid and focused on a fake turf war with the Vanes while he slowly siphoned off your assets."

Luca stood frozen, his eyes burning with a cold, terrifying rage. The betrayal wasn't just corporate or criminal—it was blood.

"Dominick is hosting the family council meeting tomorrow afternoon at the estate," Luca said softly, his voice dangerously controlled.

"What do you want us to do, Boss?" Julian asked.