Chapter 2
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel remained frozen in an eerie, suffocating silence. The crashing of the silver tray and the shattering of crystal glasses had echoed like gunshots, but no one moved. The wealthy patrons of Chicago’s elite stood petrified, their champagne flutes suspended in mid-air, their eyes wide with sheer astonishment. The paralyzed child of the Moretti empire was standing, running, and sobbing in the arms of an unknown catering waitress.
Luca Moretti moved like an unstoppable storm.
His tall, muscular frame cut through the stunned crowd, his polished black dress shoes striking the marble with heavy, authoritative force. Flanking him were two imposing bodyguards in black suits, their hands resting discreetly beneath their tailored jackets near their concealed firearms. Luca’s face had darkened into a mask of terrifying confusion, disbelief, and a rising, apocalyptic dread.
He stopped inches away from where Hannah knelt on the cold marble floor, his towering shadow completely engulfing the weeping woman and his daughter.
Sophia clung frantically to Hannah’s mint-green dress, her small fingers knotting into the white lace apron as if letting go would make the woman disappear. Hannah held the child close, her broad shoulders shaking with heavy, shuddering sobs. She looked up at the fearsome Mafia boss, her expressive blonde-brown eyes swimming in tears, filled with an agonizing mix of guilt, fear, and profound relief.
Luca stared down at Hannah. His piercing dark eyes scanned her face, her mint-green uniform, and the way her arms wrapped protectively around his daughter. He noticed the subtle, unmistakable look in Hannah’s eyes—a look of deep, ancient recognition, a buried secret that chilled him to his absolute core.
"Who are you?" Luca demanded. His voice was a cold, commanding rumble, low with controlled fury and raw, desperate emotion that made the air in the room drop ten degrees.
Hannah’s lips trembled violently as she looked up at the ruthless mob king. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, her chest heaving beneath her white apron while Sophia nestled her golden-brown curls against Hannah's neck.
"I asked you a question," Luca growled, taking a slow, menacing step closer, his sharp jawline locking like iron as his tattooed forearms flexed. "Who are you, and why is my daughter running to you?!"
"Daddy, don't be mad!" Sophia sobbed softly, turning her tear-streaked face toward Luca while keeping her arms locked around Hannah. "It's Hannah! She's the angel from the night!"
Luca felt as though the marble floor beneath his feet had cracked open. The night. Three years ago, when Sophia was only three weeks old, a violent, unidentified hit squad had breached the private pediatric wing of Saint Anthony’s Hospital. Luca’s men had arrived to find a slaughterhouse—the guards dead, the medical staff executed, and baby Sophia lying cold and unresponsive in her crib, her spine compromised by what doctors claimed was severe oxygen deprivation and blunt trauma.
Hannah looked up through her falling tears, her voice a shattered, terrified whisper that resonated through the dead quiet of the ballroom.
"I was there the night they tried to kill her…"
A collective gasp rippled through the surrounding crowd.
Luca went dead still. The blood drained from his handsome, sharp features, leaving his fair skin ghostly pale under the chandelier light. The dark tattoos on his neck stood out in stark contrast as his breathing caught violently in his throat.
"Frank," Luca commanded without taking his eyes off Hannah. His voice was no longer a rumble; it was a lethal, absolute decree. "Lock down this ballroom. Nobody enters. Nobody leaves. If anyone pulls out a phone, shoot them."
"Yes, Boss," his chief bodyguard replied, immediately gesturing to six armed men who moved to seal the heavy oak doors of the ballroom.
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Luca dropped down onto one knee on the marble floor, bringing his broad, muscular frame down to Hannah's level. He reached out his large, tattooed hand, grabbing Hannah by her upper arm—not with violence, but with a desperate, crushing intensity that demanded the truth.
"Speak," Luca ordered, his piercing eyes burning into hers. "Speak right now."
