I KNEW LUCA’S MOTHER HADN’T FORGOTTEN HER GRANDDAUGHTER’S BIRTHDAY.

I drove Rosa’s abandoned sedan like a madwoman through the deserted streets of Chicago.

My hands shook against the steering wheel, but I didn't slow down.

The old warehouse by the river loomed in the distance, a massive, windowless brick structure that looked abandoned to the outside world. But I could see the fleet of black luxury SUVs parked discreetly in the shadows.

The syndicate council was inside.

I parked a block away, killed the headlights, and ran through the rain-soaked alleys toward the back of the building.

I found the rusted metal door Rosa had described. It looked like an old service entrance for freight.

I slipped the heavy antique key into the lock.

It turned with a loud, grinding click.

I pulled the door open and stepped into a dark, narrow corridor. At the end was a freight elevator.

I pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator groaned upward, the ascent feeling like it took hours.

When the doors finally parted, I stepped into a dimly lit antechamber.

Through a set of heavy double doors, I could hear voices.

“The proof is irrefutable,” Victor’s raspy voice echoed through the wood. “My father lied. He placed a bastard on the throne. By the laws of this council, I am the rightful head of the Chicago syndicate.”

I cracked the door open just enough to see inside.

The room was vast, lined with mahogany panels. Five elderly men sat around a massive circular table. The bosses of the allied families.

Victor stood at the head of the table, slamming the yellowed birth certificates onto the wood.

“I demand Luca Moretti be stripped of his title and executed for treason,” Victor declared.

The council members murmured among themselves, examining the documents.

“The papers appear authentic,” one of the older men said slowly. “If this is true, Luca’s reign is invalid.”

“It is true,” Victor smiled triumphantly.

Suddenly, the main doors at the far end of the room burst open.

Four heavily armed guards were thrown backward into the room, groaning in pain.

Luca strode in.

He didn't have his gun raised. He walked with a terrifying, absolute calm.

His white shirt was still stained with his mother’s blood.

“Hello, Victor,” Luca said, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.

Victor sneered, stepping back behind two of his own mercenaries. “You’re trespassing, bastard. The council is reviewing my claim.”

“The council can review whatever they want,” Luca said, continuing his slow, deliberate walk toward the table.

“Stop right there,” a council member commanded. “Luca, if these papers are real, you have no authority here.”

Luca didn't stop.

“I didn't come for authority,” Luca said. “I came for my brother.”

Victor laughed. “You think you can just walk in here and kill me? I have the proof, Luca! I am the legitimate heir!”

“You are,” Luca agreed, finally stopping a few feet from the table.

The room went dead silent.

Victor blinked, completely thrown by the admission. “What?”

“You are the legitimate heir,” Luca repeated loudly, making sure every boss at the table heard him. “My father lied. He forged the papers. He hid the truth because he knew you were a psychopath.”

Luca looked around the table.

“I’ve known the truth for five years. My father told me on his deathbed.”

Victor’s triumphant smile returned, wider and uglier than before.

“You hear that?” Victor cheered to the council. “He admits it! He’s a fraud! Arrest him!”

The mercenaries raised their weapons at Luca.

I covered my mouth, terrified. Why was Luca confessing? He was signing his own death warrant.

But Luca didn't look afraid. He looked almost... bored.

“I admit it,” Luca said softly. “But there’s one thing you don't know, Victor.”

Luca reached into his pocket.

He pulled out a small, velvet jewelry box.

The same one I had seen in the trunk of the SUV. The one sitting next to the child’s drawing.

Luca opened the box and tossed the contents onto the center of the table, right on top of the birth certificates.

It was a heavy, ornate gold ring.

A signet ring.

The council members gasped collectively. One of the old men stood up, his chair scraping violently against the floor.

“Where did you get that?” the old man whispered.

Victor stared at the ring, confused. “What is it? Just a piece of jewelry.”

“It is not just jewelry, you ignorant fool,” the old man spat at Victor.

The boss looked at Luca with absolute reverence.

“That is the signet ring of the Sicilian High Commission. It has been lost for thirty years.”

Luca nodded slowly.

Answer one: Luca wasn't just an illegitimate son. He was the son of a woman connected to the highest, most powerful mafia council in the world.

Open two: How did Luca get the ring, and why did Victor have it in his car without knowing what it was?

“My biological mother wasn't just a mistress,” Luca explained, his voice ringing with untouchable authority. “She was the daughter of the Sicilian Don. My father hid me in Chicago to protect me from an assassination plot in Italy.”

Luca looked at Victor, whose face had drained of all color.

“You wanted to be the boss of Chicago, Victor?” Luca sneered. “Congratulations. But I am the heir to the entire international syndicate. And by the laws of the Commission, my word overrides yours.”

Victor stumbled backward, realizing he had just picked a fight with a man who technically owned the men sitting at the table.

“You’re lying!” Victor shrieked, drawing his weapon.

Before Victor could aim, Luca moved with blinding speed.

He drew his own gun and fired a single shot.

The bullet struck Victor perfectly in the shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him to the floor, screaming in agony.

The council members didn't flinch. Victor’s mercenaries dropped their weapons instantly, recognizing the shift in power.

Luca walked over and stood above his bleeding brother.

“You shot my mother,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a demonic whisper.

“She’s my mother too!” Victor cried, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

“No,” Luca said softly. “She isn't.”

Luca aimed the gun directly at Victor’s head.

I couldn't let him do it. I couldn't let him become a murderer in front of the council.