THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME CARRY HIS SLEEPING DAUGHTER DOWN THE STAIRS WHILE LIMPING—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE TWISTED HER ANKLE CLEANING THE GUEST ROOM,” EVEN THOUGH I HAD TOLD NO ONE.

I barely managed to slip inside the nursery suite and close the heavy oak door before the sound of footsteps reached the landing outside.

I stood against the wood, my chest heaving, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle the sound of my ragged breathing. The pain in my ankle was blinding, sending hot spikes of agony straight up to my hip. Through the small keyhole, I saw the shadow of Marco Romano pass by, pausing for three unbearable seconds outside the door.

He didn't knock. He didn't turn the handle.

After an eternity, the floorboards groaned as he retreated back down the gallery.

I sank to the floor, my mind spinning into a vortex of panic.

They were going to frame me. They were going to use Elena’s memory—the one sacred thing Luca guarded with his life—to destroy me, isolate Sofia, and ultimately clear the way for Luca’s own assassination.

I couldn't just run. If I packed my bags and fled in the dead of night, it would look like an admission of guilt before the trap was even sprung. Worse, Sofia would be left completely defenseless against Isabella and her father.

And Luca...

A dangerous, powerful man, yes. But beneath the ruthless exterior, he was a man trying to protect the only pieces of his heart that had survived his wife’s death. I couldn't let them slaughter him.

The next morning broke cold and gray, a thick sheet of frost coating the manicured lawns.

At eight o'clock, Luca left the estate in a convoy of two black Suburbans for his scheduled meeting with the transport board downtown. Before leaving, he had stopped by the breakfast nook where Sofia was eating pancakes. He had kissed her forehead, then turned to me, his dark eyes lingering on my face for a moment longer than usual.

“You look pale, Emma,” he had said quietly.

“Just didn't sleep well, Mr. Moretti.”

He had frowned, looking as though he wanted to ask more, but his head of security had cleared his throat at the door. “We need to move, boss.”

Luca had nodded, his jaw tight. “I’ll be back by two. Call my direct line if you need anything.”

Now, it was one in the afternoon.

Sofia was in the music room on the ground floor with her piano instructor. I was in the small second-floor laundry room folding linens, my ears tuned to every creak of the house, waiting for the trap to spring.

It didn't take long.

A sudden, piercing scream echoed from the master suite down the hall.

“Luca! My God, someone call the police!”

Isabella’s voice.

Within seconds, the quiet of the estate shattered. Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs as two private security guards rushed toward the master wing. Housekeepers gathered in hushed, terrified clusters near the arched doorways.

I stepped out of the laundry room, leaning on my cane, my face carefully blank.

Isabella was standing outside Luca’s private study, her hands pressed dramatically to her cheeks, her face pale with simulated horror.

“The safe is open!” she cried out to the head of security, a burly, stone-faced man named Frank. “I came up to leave the charity receipts on Luca’s desk, and the painting was swung wide! The velvet box is empty!”

Frank’s face went gray. “Which box, Miss Romano?”

“The emerald necklace!” Isabella gasped, her voice carrying across the entire second floor so that every maid, cook, and gardener could hear it. “Elena’s wedding necklace! It’s gone!”

A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the household staff. Everyone who worked for Luca Moretti knew the rules. You could steal money, you could break antique vases, you could ruin a million-dollar car—and you might survive with your life. But you did not touch Elena’s things.

At that exact moment, the heavy front doors downstairs slammed open with a concussive boom.

The chatter died instantly.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed up the marble staircase. The atmosphere in the mansion plummeted into an icy, suffocating dread.

Luca appeared at the top of the landing.

He hadn't taken off his long wool overcoat. His tie was slightly loosened, his expression carved out of granite. Behind him walked two armed men who flanked the stairs, cutting off every exit from the upper floor.

His dark eyes swept across the gathered staff, landing finally on his fiancée.

“What did you say?” Luca asked.

His voice was so low, so quiet, that it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It was the voice of a man who had already decided someone was going to die.

Isabella rushed forward, throwing herself against his chest in a show of hysterical distress. “Luca, oh God, it’s horrible! Someone broke into your safe! The Castiglione emeralds... they're gone!”

Luca didn't wrap his arms around her. He didn't even look at her. He gently, but firmly, peeled her hands off his lapels and stepped past her into the study.

The safe door stood wide open behind the Renaissance portrait. The blue velvet case sat on the mahogany desk, empty.

Luca stared at the empty box for five long seconds. When he turned back to the corridor, the air seemed to crackle around him.

“Nobody leaves this floor,” Luca announced. Every word fell like a lead weight. “Frank.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Search every room. Every pocket. Every drawer. Start with the servants' quarters, then move to the guest suites.”

Isabella stepped forward, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “Luca, surely none of the regular staff would dare. But... we have had people roaming around the family wing who don't belong here. People who have been resentful. People who might want to hurt this family.”

She turned her venomous gaze directly onto me.

Every eye in the hallway followed hers. The housekeepers shrank back, distancing themselves from me as if I carried the plague.

“Miss Evans,” Frank said, his voice hesitant as he looked at me. “We need to search your suite.”

“Of course,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. “Go ahead.”

Isabella crossed her arms, a vicious, triumphant smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She was practically vibrating with anticipation, waiting for the moment Frank walked out with the green velvet pouch in his hands.

Frank entered the guest suite beside the nursery. Two minutes ticked by in total, suffocating silence. You could hear the wind howling against the leaded glass windows. Luca stood motionless by the doorway, his eyes fixed on the floor, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his overcoat.

Then, Frank walked out.

His hands were empty.

Isabella’s smirk vanished. Her brow furrowed in sudden confusion. “Frank? Did you check under the mattress? Did you check her wardrobe?”

“I searched the entire room, Miss Romano,” Frank said, shaking his head. “There’s nothing in there. Just her clothes and some children’s books.”

“That’s impossible!” Isabella shrieked, losing her composure for a fraction of a second. “Check her handbag! Check her coat!”

“Isabella.”

Luca spoke her name softly, but the single word silenced her instantly.

He stepped out of the study, his tall frame casting a long, dark shadow over the Persian runner. He didn't look angry anymore. He looked... calculating.

“Why did you assume it was under her mattress?” Luca asked.

Isabella blinked, the color draining from her cheeks in a sickening rush. “What?”

“Frank said he searched the room,” Luca said, taking a slow step toward her. “He didn't mention a mattress. You did.”

“I—I was just guessing! That’s where people hide things!”

“Is it?” Luca’s voice was as cold as the grave. “Tell me, Isabella... how did the thief open the safe?”

“They must have picked it—”

“It’s a biometric and digital combination lock made by a Swiss vault manufacturer,” Luca said, his eyes drilling into hers with lethal precision. “It cannot be picked. It can only be opened with the code. A code that only three people in this world have ever known. Myself. My late wife.”

He paused, stopping just inches from her face.

“And your father, who saw me enter it five years ago during the estate settlement.”

Isabella began to tremble. “Luca, you can't possibly think that I—”

“Where is the necklace, Isabella?”

“I don't know!”

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Luca murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper that made the entire hallway freeze in terror. “Where is my wife’s necklace?”

“I found it,” a small, quiet voice said from the end of the hall.

Everyone turned.