"She Fled the Most Feared Man in Chicago Three Years Ago. Now He Stood on Her Porch—and Looked Down at Two Identical Eyes."

I had put Ash and Lena to bed hours ago, reading them extra stories until their heavy eyelids finally drifted shut. But I sat at the small kitchen table in the dark, a cold cup of tea growing bitter in front of me, staring out the streaked window into the deserted street below.

Parked at the curb beneath the flickering amber streetlamp sat a sleek, bulletproof black SUV.

He hadn't left.

Luca Moretti didn't know how to retreat. He was a predator who laid siege to his targets until they starved or surrendered. And even though he was sitting out there in the freezing rain, I knew he wasn't going back to Chicago without us.

A sharp knock broke the silence of the apartment.

Not at the front door. At the back service stairs.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I grabbed a heavy iron skillet from the stove, creeping down the dimly lit hallway. The knock came again—firm, measured, respectful.

"Sarah. It's Mateo."

I exhaled a shaky breath, lowering the skillet slightly. Mateo was Luca's second-in-command, a quiet, deadly man who had occasionally brought paperwork to our Lake Forest estate and who had always treated me with quiet deference.

I unlocked the back door and pulled it open just enough to see him standing on the landing, holding a large waterproof duffel bag and a thermal container of food. He looked wet, tired, and deeply uncomfortable.

"Mrs. Moretti," Mateo said quietly, keeping his hands visible. "Or... Miss Sterling. Whatever you prefer now."

"What do you want, Mateo?" I demanded, blocking the doorway. "If Luca sent you to—"

"Boss didn't send me to break down your door," Mateo interrupted, his dark eyes looking past me into the dark hallway. "He sent me because he knows you're stubborn, and he knows you won't take anything from him directly. But the kids need things. Milk, fresh groceries, warm clothes for this mountain chill. And you look like you haven't slept in three days."

"We don't need his charity," I snapped.

"It's not charity. It's logistics," Mateo replied evenly, setting the heavy bag and the food container on the doormat outside. "Boss is parked downstairs. He’s freezing his ass off in that car because he refuses to leave until he talks to you. Not to take the kids by force. He told us explicitly—any man who draws a weapon or tries to move on them without your permission answers to him."

I stared at the duffel bag. My bank account was nearly empty, and the bakery job only paid enough for bare essentials. The mountain winter was coming early, and the apartment's ancient heating radiator had started making ominous clanking noises that morning.

"Why is he doing this, Mateo?" I asked, my voice suddenly cracking with exhaustion. "He had Vanessa. He had his empire. Why come looking for a ghost?"

Mateo looked down for a moment, shifting his weight. "Because after you left, Mrs. Moretti... the house went dark. Vanessa lasted two weeks before Luca threw her out onto the street with nothing. He didn't touch her again. He spent three years tearing Chicago apart looking for you. He stopped sleeping, he stopped expanding the syndicate, and he nearly took a bullet to the chest last year because he stopped paying attention to his own security."

He looked back up, meeting my eyes. "He didn't lose a wife, Sarah. He lost his mind."