THE MAFIA BOSS DROVE HOME WITH HIS DIAMOND-CLAD FIANCÉE—THEN HIS HEADLIGHTS FOUND THE WIFE HE HAD MOURNED PULLING THEIR TWIN SONS THROUGH THE RAIN

By eight o'clock the following morning, the storm had cleared, leaving Chicago under a crisp, pale blue sky.

Inside the penthouse, the atmosphere was a bizarre mixture of extreme luxury and old survival habits. In the grand dining room, a table was laden with fresh fruit, silver platters of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and fresh pastries prepared by the private chef.

Yet, Leo and Nicolas sat on the plush chairs with their legs pulled up under them, eating rapidly, their eyes constantly flicking toward the doors as if expecting someone to take the food away.

Beatrice sat between them, gently placing her hand on Nicolas's back. "Slow down, Nico. Nobody is going to take it. There's plenty more in the kitchen."

Nicolas looked up, a smudge of pancake syrup on his chin. "Can we take some for later, Mama? In case we have to walk again?"

Lorenzo, who was standing near the head of the table holding a cup of espresso, felt a lump form in his throat. He set his cup down, walked over, and knelt beside Nicolas’s chair.

"Nico," Lorenzo said gently, taking the boy's small, syrup-sticky hand in his own. "You are never going to carry food in your pockets again. You are never going to walk until your boots fall apart. Do you see those two men standing by the elevator doors?"

Nicolas looked toward the entrance, where two massive security guards in immaculate suits stood at attention.

"They work for us," Lorenzo explained. "Their only job in the entire world is to make sure nobody ever bothers you, your brother, or your mama again. If you ever want more pancakes, or a toy, or a warm coat, you just tell them, and they will bring it to you."

Leo stopped chewing his toast, his gray eyes shining. "Can they bring a bicycle? With red wheels?"

A rare, genuine laugh escaped Lorenzo’s lips—a sound that made Beatrice turn her head in delight.

"They can bring three red bicycles, Leo," Lorenzo promised, winking at the boy. "One for you, one for Nico, and a big one for your mama."

The front door chimed, and Gino walked quickly into the dining room, holding a leather briefcase and an encrypted tablet. He bowed his head respectfully to Beatrice before looking at Lorenzo with a serious expression.

"Boss," Gino said quietly. "We have a situation. Frank Rossi has called an emergency meeting of the Commission at the Italian Cultural Center for two o'clock today. He claims you have violated the Commission charter by breaking a formal matrimonial contract and harboring a woman accused of grand theft against a caporegime."

Beatrice’s face paled immediately. She set her fork down. "Lorenzo... he’s moving against you."

"He thinks he is," Lorenzo said calmly, standing up and smoothing his tailored navy jacket. "Gino, did Marco send the clearance codes for the Geneva estate?"

"Yes, Boss. The vault codes were verified twenty minutes ago. But Bernardo’s men are currently patrolling the perimeter of the Geneva property. If we go there, it will mean a firefight."

Lorenzo’s eyes hardened into blue ice. "Bernardo is an idiot who thinks my father's old guards still owe him loyalty. Prepare three armored SUVs. We leave for Geneva now."

"Lorenzo, no!" Beatrice stood up, her voice filled with panic as she walked around the table toward him. "You can't go into a gunfight! What if something happens to you? We just got you back!"

Lorenzo reached out, grasping both her shoulders gently, looking down into her panicked face.

"Bea," he said softly, his voice echoing with absolute resolve. "Five years ago, I let my father dictate the narrative because I was blind to his cruelty. Today, I am going to Geneva to retrieve the proof that will destroy Frank Rossi and my uncle Bernardo permanently. I am doing this so our sons never have to spend another day wondering if a hitman is behind the door."

"Take me with you," Beatrice demanded.

Lorenzo frowned. "Absolute not. It's too dangerous."

"I know where the hidden safe is, Lorenzo!" Beatrice argued, her chin lifting with that familiar, stubborn defiance he loved. "Your father didn't keep his real ledgers in the main vault under the study. He kept them behind the oil painting of the Archangel Michael in the wine cellar! I saw him open it three weeks before I was taken!"

Lorenzo stared at her in surprise. Carmine Moretti had been a paranoid monster, but even he hadn't realized his quiet, artistic daughter-in-law had noticed his most guarded secret.

"If you go into that house alone, you will search the study for an hour while Bernardo’s men surround you," Beatrice added, stepping closer to him. "With me, we are in and out in five minutes."

Lorenzo looked at her, weighing the extreme risk against the undeniable logic of her statement. He looked back at the boys, who were watching them attentively from the breakfast table.

"Gino," Lorenzo commanded. "Assign eight men to stay inside this penthouse. Full lockdown protocols. Nobody enters, not even the building manager. If anyone approaches the floor without my voice authorization, shoot through the door."

"Understood, Boss," Gino nodded.

Lorenzo turned back to Beatrice, his expression intensely focused. "You wear a tactical vest under your coat. You stay in the middle of the squad. The second we have the ledger, we pull out. Agreed?"