The leather crop was raised for another strike, suspended in the heavy, perfumed air of the sitting room. And standing directly in front of Emma, swirling a crystal glass of gin, was Alessia.

Alessia Vitiello, the woman Luca was scheduled to marry in exactly three weeks. She wore a silk emerald slip dress, her dark hair cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders. She was laughing at something Sophia had just said, a cruel, ringing sound that died the absolute second she registered the click of the heavy oak door shutting.

Alessia turned. The color drained from her perfectly contoured face so fast she looked like a corpse. Her gin glass slipped from her manicured fingers, shattering against the imported marble tiles. The sharp crash echoed in the dead silence of the room.

Behind her, Sophia froze, her arm still raised, her eyes wide with a sudden, suffocating terror.

Luca didn’t shout. He didn’t rush forward. He simply stood by the door, his dark overcoat still resting on his shoulders, his eyes scanning the scene with the cold, mechanical precision of a predator assessing a slaughter.

Emma was bound to the heavy mahogany dining chair with thick silk ties from the drapery. Her uniform was torn at the shoulder, revealing the angry red welt where the leather crop had bitten into her skin. Her face was pale, her lip bleeding where she had clearly been struck by a hand, but her eyes—when they met Luca’s—were not weeping. They were burning with a fierce, quiet defiance that struck a match deep inside Luca’s chest.

“Luca,” Alessia gasped, her voice trembling, stripping away every ounce of the haughty mafia princess persona she had cultivated for years. “You… you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow morning.”

“Clearly,” Luca said. His voice was a low, smooth baritone that lacked any inflection. It was the exact tone he used right before he ordered a man buried in the foundations of a new high-rise.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket, his movements terrifyingly deliberate. He walked slowly across the room. The silence was so profound he could hear the frantic, shallow breathing of the two women. Sophia took a step backward, the riding crop slipping from her sweaty grip to clatter onto the floor.

Luca stopped in front of Alessia. He was a foot taller than her, his presence suffocating.

“She stole from me,” Alessia blurted out, her panic overriding her survival instincts. She pointed a shaking finger at Emma. “A diamond tennis bracelet. I found it in her quarters. I was just… we were just disciplining her. It’s household business, Luca. You don’t need to involve yourself.”

Luca shifted his gaze to Emma. “Did you steal from my fiancée, Emma?”

“No, sir,” Emma replied, her voice raspy but entirely steady. “She dropped it in the garden yesterday. I placed it on her vanity this morning. When I went to turn down her bed an hour ago, she locked the door behind me.”

Luca looked back at Alessia. The lie was written all over her trembling mouth. Alessia had always been wildly insecure, threatened by any woman in the estate who didn’t shrink away from her. Emma, who was quietly competent, striking, and entirely unimpressed by Alessia’s tantrums, had been a target since day one.

“Sophia,” Luca said, not looking at the other woman. “Pick up the crop.”

Sophia let out a strangled whimper. “Mr. Moretti, please… it was Alessia’s idea. I just…”

“Pick it up.” The command cracked like a whip.

Trembling violently, Sophia bent down and retrieved the leather crop.

“Now,” Luca said, his eyes still locked on Alessia’s terrified face. “Hand it to me.”

Sophia practically threw it into his outstretched hand, backing away until her shoulders hit the silk wallpaper. Luca tested the weight of the leather in his hand, bending it slightly. He saw Alessia flinch, her hands coming up to protect her face.

Luca felt a spike of pure disgust. He tossed the crop onto a side table, turning his back on his fiancée entirely. He walked around to the back of Emma’s chair and drew a small, wicked silver pocketknife from his trousers. In two swift motions, he sliced through the thick silk ties binding her wrists and ankles.

Emma slumped forward slightly, her muscles trembling from the tension, but before she could fall, Luca caught her by the shoulders. His large, warm hands steadied her.

“Can you walk?” he asked softly, a tone Alessia had never, not once, heard him use.

“Yes, Mr. Moretti,” Emma murmured, finding her footing.

Luca nodded. He turned his head slightly, his profile sharp and unforgiving as he addressed the women cowering across the room. “The wedding is canceled.”

Alessia let out a breathless, agonizing sob. “Luca, no! You can’t! Our families… my father will…”

“Your father,” Luca interrupted, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “will be informed that his daughter is a liability. Your family’s shipping contracts with my ports are terminated as of this second. Your protection in the five boroughs is revoked. You are nothing to the Moretti family.”

Alessia collapsed to her knees, weeping into her hands. The alliance between their families was the only thing keeping the Vitiello syndicate from being devoured by their rivals. By canceling the wedding and pulling his protection, Luca was effectively signing her father’s death warrant.

“Sophia,” Luca continued, his voice devoid of mercy. “You have exactly two minutes to drag this trash out of my house. If either of you are on my property when the clock strikes seven, I will have my men test the soundproofing in the basement.”

Sophia grabbed Alessia by the arms, hauling the hysterical woman to her feet and dragging her toward the door. They stumbled out into the hallway, their sobs echoing down the corridor before the heavy front doors slammed shut, sealing their fate.

Luca turned his attention back to Emma. She was rubbing her bruised wrists, her eyes fixed on the shattered glass on the floor.

“Come with me,” Luca said, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back.