“The old servant's quarters,” Dante said, his voice dropping into that cold, polished cadence he used when he wanted a decision to sound like an execution. “Down in the service wing. Until this matter is resolved.”

Dante knelt beside Grace and his mother, the smoke clearing as the ventilation systems finally kicked in. His mother was breathing, coughing into a damp handkerchief, clutching the emerald and diamond necklace tightly in her palm.

And Grace... Grace lay motionless beneath the charred beam, her breathing shallow, her face covered in soot and blood from a falling piece of drywall.

“Get a medic!” Dante roared, his voice cracking with a raw terror no board meeting or business negotiation had ever induced.

Two security guards rushed forward, lifting the heavy wooden beam off Grace’s legs. As they rolled her onto a stretcher, Dante noticed something terrifying: Grace’s right hand was still tightly clenched around a charred piece of paper and a gold cufflink.

Dante gently pried her fingers open.

The cufflink bore a distinct monogram.

V.R.

Not Vanessa Laurent—though that was her public name—but Victor Reed, the corporate raider and rival who had been trying to sabotage Moretti Holdings for months. Vanessa wasn't just Dante’s snobbish fiancée; she was a corporate plant, working with Reed to infiltrate the family, steal the legacy heirlooms to discredit the household staff, and force a hostile takeover while the Moretti family was distracted by internal scandal.

And Grace had found out.

She had gone to the private study to warn Elena or secure the safe, only to find Vanessa and her co-conspirators setting the fire to cover their tracks. When the room went up in flames, Grace had thrown her own body over an elderly woman who had treated her with kindness.

Dante stood up slowly, the smoke swirling around his ankles, but he felt entirely cold.

Vanessa pushed her way through the gathering crowd of guests and emergency workers, her face pale, her wedding dress slightly stained with ash.

“Dante, thank God you’re safe! I heard there was a fire—we need to leave—”

She stopped.

Dante turned to face her.

The man who had humiliated a plus-size maid for the sake of social convenience hours earlier was gone. In his place stood Don Moretti—a man whose fury was absolute, silent, and deadly.

Dante held up the monogrammed cufflink.

Vanessa’s breath hitched.

“Whose is this, Vanessa?” Dante’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it made every security guard in the hallway step back.

“I... I don't know,” Vanessa stammered, backing away toward the grand exit. “Dante, you’re in shock—the maid probably planted that—”

“The maid saved my mother’s life,” Dante interrupted, stepping forward like a predator closing in on its prey. “While you and your associates tried to burn this house to the ground.”