“DON’T BLAME YOUR SHAKING HANDS ON MY WEDDING DRESS!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED A 64-YEAR-OLD S

Luca stared at me as the monitor beside his bed beeped steadily.

"My suit jacket?" he asked, his voice weak. "It's at the mansion. In my closet. Why?"

"Because," I explained, my heart racing, "when my mother worked in her alterations shop, she taught me that people don't hide things in plain sight. They hide them in the seams."

I looked at Evelyn. "You made all of Antonio’s suits, didn't you?"

Evelyn nodded slowly. "Yes. For thirty years."

"Did he ever ask you to sew something special into the lining? A pocket? A hidden compartment?"

Evelyn’s eyes widened. "Two years ago. Right before he got sick. He brought me a black suit jacket and asked me to sew a tiny, reinforced pocket into the collar lining. He said it was for a 'rainy day.'"

Answer One: Antonio didn't spend the stolen Russian money. He hid the proof of it, and he kept the location hidden on his own person.

"And when he died," I continued, looking back at Luca, "who packed up his clothes?"

"I did," Luca said, realization dawning on his pale face. "I took that black suit home. I’ve never worn it. It’s still hanging in my closet at the estate."

I turned to Marco. "We have to go to the mansion."

Marco shook his head violently. "Absolutely not. The mansion is compromised. Vanessa ran there after the dinner to steal the safe. She could have told Viktor the layout. The Russians could be watching it right now."

"I don't care," I said fiercely, grabbing my coat. "If we find what Antonio hid in that collar, we can stop the war without Luca having to fire a single shot."

Luca reached out, his hand weakly catching my wrist. "Claire. It's too dangerous."

I looked down at his hand, then up into his dark, terrified eyes. I wasn't just a housekeeper anymore. I was fighting for the man who had taken a bullet for my mother.

"You protected my family," I whispered, squeezing his hand. "Now it's my turn to protect yours."

I looked at Marco. "Are you coming with me or not?"

Marco grunted, a reluctant smile crossing his scarred face. "You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid. Let’s go."

Twenty minutes later, Marco and I pulled up to the service entrance of the Moretti estate in an unmarked sedan. The rain had started again, pouring in heavy, dark sheets.

The estate was eerily quiet. The guards Luca had posted were gone.

"This isn't right," Marco whispered, pulling his gun. "The perimeter is completely dark."

We slipped through the kitchen doors. The house smelled of expensive wax and something metallic. Blood.

We found two of Luca’s guards unconscious in the grand foyer.

"The Russians are already here," Marco hissed, gesturing for me to stay behind him as we crept up the grand staircase.

We reached the master suite. The door was ajar.

Marco pushed it open, his gun raised.

The room was empty, but it had been torn apart. The mattress was flipped, the walls slashed. They were searching for something.

I ran to the massive walk-in closet. The clothes had been thrown everywhere.

"Help me look for a black suit jacket!" I whispered frantically to Marco, digging through the piles of expensive cashmere and silk.

I found a charcoal one. A navy one. But no black.

Then, my eyes caught a glimmer of silk buried beneath a pile of ruined dress shirts in the corner.

I pulled it out. It was a heavy, tailored black suit jacket. I ran my hands desperately along the collar.

There. A tiny, hard lump hidden deep within the fabric.

I pulled my sewing scissors from my pocket—the same ones I used to repair the blue silk dress—and carefully snipped the threads.

I reached inside the lining and pulled out a small, heavy, ornate iron key.

"I found it," I breathed, holding it up.

"Good," a cold voice said from the doorway. "Now hand it over."

Open Two: How did the Russians know we were coming for the key?

I spun around.

Standing in the doorway of the closet, holding a suppressed assault rifle aimed directly at Marco’s chest, was Viktor Romanov. And standing beside him, looking completely terrified and bruised, was Vanessa.

Reversal: Viktor didn't leave Vanessa behind at the warehouse. He brought her as a hostage to navigate the estate.

"Drop the gun, Marco," Viktor ordered. "Or I cut you in half."

Marco hesitated, looking at me.

"Do it," I whispered, terrified.

Marco slowly lowered his gun to the floor.

Viktor smiled, stepping into the closet. He held his hand out toward me.

"The key, little maid," Viktor demanded. "Antonio stole my lockbox twenty years ago. It contains the deeds to every Russian property in New York. Give it to me, and I’ll let you live."

I looked at the iron key in my hand. It was the only leverage Luca had left. If I handed it over, the Romanovs would be unstoppable.

I gripped the key tighter, my heart pounding.