AT 10:47 P.M. ON CHRISTMAS EVE, my seven-year-old daughter fell asleep at Table 12 while I cleaned a restaurant owned by Boston’s most feared man. I thought the worst thing that could happen was getting fired for bringing her.

Paul stepped into the moonlight of the bedroom, his gun steady on Marcus’s chest.

“Kick the gun under the bed, Marcus,” Paul ordered.

Marcus slowly lowered his weapon and kicked it across the carpet.

Paul turned his dead eyes to me. I was huddled on the floor, my arms wrapped so tightly around Lily she was whimpering.

“The watch,” I gasped, staring at the gold chain dangling from Paul’s bloody fingers. “You took that from David after the crash.”

“I had to make sure he was dead,” Paul smiled grimly. “I pulled him from the wreck. He was holding this, trying to open it. I kept it as a souvenir. Now, Emily. The storage ticket. Where is it?”

“I don’t have it,” I lied, my voice shaking violently.

Paul sighed. He pointed the gun down, aiming directly at my kneecap. “I don’t want to traumatize the child, Emily. But I will.”

“Wait!” I screamed. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the faded blue ticket. My hand shook so badly the paper fluttered like a leaf in the wind.

Paul stepped forward and snatched it from my hand. He held it up to the moonlight. “South Station. Finally.”

He shoved the ticket into his pocket. But he didn’t lower the gun.

“Thank you, Emily,” Paul said. “But you’re still a Moretti. And I don’t leave loose ends.”

He raised the gun to my face.

I closed my eyes, pressing my face into Lily’s hair, waiting for the end.

“Paul!” a voice roared from the hallway.

Before Paul could pull the trigger, a massive shadow slammed into him from the side. Luca, covered in blood and breathing heavily, tackled his brother to the floor. The gun went off, the bullet shattering the floor-to-ceiling window behind us. Icy wind howled into the room.

Luca and Paul fought like feral animals. It wasn’t graceful; it was brutal, ugly, and desperate. Luca was bigger, but Paul was fighting for his life, clawing at Luca’s eyes and throat.

“Marcus, get them out!” Luca choked out as Paul drove an elbow into his ribs.

Marcus grabbed my arm, hoisting me up. I grabbed Lily, but as I stood, my foot kicked something hard on the carpet.

The gold pocket watch. Paul had dropped it in the scuffle.

I don’t know why, but I grabbed it. I clutched it in my fist as Marcus dragged us out of the bedroom, down the dark hallway, and toward the front door.

Dennis was still unconscious on the floor by the entrance. We stepped over him, bursting into the brightly lit hallway of the hotel.

“We have to help him!” I screamed at Marcus, pulling against his grip. “He’s going to kill Luca!”

“My job is to protect you!” Marcus yelled back, dragging me toward the elevator.

I stopped. I looked down at my hand. The cracked glass of the pocket watch was digging into my palm.

David was holding this when he died. Why? Why care about a watch when you are bleeding to death in a wrecked truck?

With trembling fingers, I found the small latch on the side of the watch and pressed it. The gold cover popped open.

The watch face was broken, the hands frozen at 10:47. But wedged tightly behind the cracked glass was a tiny, perfectly folded square of paper.

“Marcus, wait,” I gasped. I pulled the paper out. It was stained with dried blood. I unfolded it carefully.

It was David’s handwriting. Frantic, messy, written in black ink.

“If I die, it wasn’t an accident. Paul Romano sabotaged my truck. He framed me. The money isn’t in South Station. I burned the real ticket. The money is in an offshore trust under Lily’s name. Password is Emily’s birthday. Give this to Luca.”

I stared at the note. The ticket I had given Paul was a decoy. David had known Paul might come for me one day.

I turned and ran back toward the penthouse.

“Emily, no!” Marcus shouted.

I burst through the door just as Paul managed to get on top of Luca, his hands closing around his brother’s throat.

“Paul!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Paul turned, his eyes wild with rage.

I held up the bloody note. “The ticket is a fake! The money isn’t at the station! David put it in a trust, and I’m the only one who has the password!”

Paul froze. He slowly stood up, leaving Luca gasping for air on the floor.

“Give me the note,” Paul demanded, stepping toward me.

“You want the money?” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. “You want to finish what you started? You have to take me alive. If you kill me, the money is gone forever.”

Paul sneered. He took another step toward me.

He didn’t see Luca rise behind him.

With one final, desperate surge of strength, Luca grabbed a heavy bronze lamp from the console table and brought it down across the back of Paul’s head.

Paul collapsed to the floor, motionless.

The room was instantly silent, save for the howling wind from the broken window.

Luca dropped the lamp, his chest heaving. He looked at me, then at the bloody note in my hand.