A Waitress Was the Only Person Who Understood My Terrified Daughter—Then She Revealed Someone Already Knew About Her Deadly Allergy.

The morning sun illuminated the wreckage of the front estate gates as Gabriel, Hannah, Nicholas, and Lucia stood on the private airfield tarmac behind the Moretti hangar.

The sleek white Gulfstream jet sat idling, its twin engines whining softly in the crisp morning air. Armed guards surrounded the perimeter, their submachine guns concealed beneath long overcoats.

Lucia clung tightly to Hannah’s hand, wearing a warm wool coat and a simple knit hat, refusing to let go. Over the past twelve hours, the little girl had made it abundantly clear: wherever Hannah went, Lucia felt safe.

"Mr. Moretti," Hannah said, stopping at the base of the plane's boarding stairs. "My apartment is in Lincoln Park. My entire life is here in Chicago. I can't just fly to New York with you."

Gabriel stopped on the second step and looked down at her. In the daylight, the sharp lines of his face were softened only by the deep, dark circles under his eyes.

"Hannah," Gabriel said, his voice quiet, sincere, and entirely stripped of mob-boss arrogance. "You saved my daughter twice in one night. You saw Colin Harper’s face. You know about the Hawthorne Trust. The people in New York already know who you are."

He took a step down, bringing himself to eye level with her.

"If you stay in Chicago, you’ll be dead before sunset," he said. "Come with us. Stay with Lucia. Help me protect my family, and I swear on my mother’s soul, no one will ever touch you."

Hannah looked down at Lucia. The little girl looked up with pleading, dark-brown eyes, tugging softly on Hannah’s sleeve.

"Resta con me, Hannah," Lucia whispered in her delicate voice. "Ti prego."

Hannah let out a long, slow breath. The quiet, ordinary life of an anonymous waitress was gone forever. Whether she liked it or not, she was in the center of the storm now.

"I’m coming," Hannah said. "On one condition."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Name it."

"You don't keep secrets from me about what we're walking into," Hannah said firmly. "If I'm protecting your daughter, I need to know every threat before it happens."

Gabriel stared at her for a long moment, then offered his broad hand. "Deal."

Hannah shook his hand. His grip was firm, solid, and warm.

Ten minutes later, the private jet roared down the runway and lifted into the gray clouds, banking hard toward the east coast.

Inside the luxury cabin, Lucia fell asleep with her head on Hannah’s shoulder once again, while Nicholas sat across from them, playing a chess game against the jet’s computer screen.

Gabriel sat across the aisle, reviewing a series of satellite photographs Dante had just transmitted to his tablet.

"What is that?" Hannah asked quietly, careful not to wake Lucia.

Gabriel swiped across the tablet screen, showing her an aerial photograph of an opulent private estate on the cliffs of Long Island.

"This is the Hawthorne compound," Gabriel explained, tapping the image of a massive Georgian-style mansion overlooking the Atlantic. "Senator William Hawthorne lives here. Our intelligence confirmed that Elena’s private flight touched down at a private airstrip three miles from this property two hours ago."

"So Elena is there right now," Hannah said. "With the drive."

"Yes," Gabriel said. "And Senator Hawthorne has already called an emergency closed-door meeting for tonight at eight o'clock."

"Who is attending?"

Gabriel zoomed in on a manifest list attached to the file. "Three federal prosecutors, two shipping magnates, and the head of the New York Port Authority."

Hannah felt a chill run through her veins. "They're going to verify the blackmail files, purge their names, and use the rest to destroy anyone who stands in their way."

"Including me," Gabriel said coldly. "And including Lucia."