**“DON'T CALL HER YOUR DAUGHTER IN FRONT OF MY GUESTS. SHE'S EMBARRASSED ENOUGH BY YOU ALREADY,” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE TOLD MY 63-YEAR-OLD FATHER—THEN ORDERED HIM TO LEAVE THE DINING ROOM. BUT WHEN MY DAD QUIETLY SAID, “I'M SORRY I NEVER BECAME THE KIND OF MAN YOU COULD BE PROUD OF,” LUCA PUT DOWN HIS GLASS AND ASKED, “WHO MADE HIM BELIEVE THAT?”**

The silence in the wine cellar was absolute, broken only by the steady drip of condensation from the cooling pipes.

I stared at the child’s drawing resting in the empty steel vault.

It was a crude sketch, drawn in heavy blue crayon. It showed a stick figure of a man holding a hammer. The man was wearing a navy-blue suit. And next to him, drawn in careful, blocky letters, was a single word:

PAPA.

My breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred.

“That’s my drawing,” I whispered, the words scraping against the sudden dryness in my mouth. “I drew that for my dad when I was seven years old. He kept it in his wallet for twenty years.”

Luca didn't touch the paper. He stared at it, the terrifying implications rapidly clicking into place in his mind.

“If your father’s drawing is in here,” Luca said, his voice dangerously low, “it means he opened this safe before Dominic got here.”

“No,” I said frantically, shaking my head. “Dad was with Teresa in the panic room! He doesn't even know where this cellar is!”

“Emily,” Luca said, turning to look at me, his dark eyes filled with a tragic certainty. “Your father built hidden vaults for Lorenzo Rossi twenty years ago. The Rossi family built this estate before my father took it from them. Your father didn't just build vaults for the Rossis.”

He looked back at the empty steel safe.

“He built this one.”

The world spun violently. My dad. The gentle carpenter who burned pancakes and sewed buttons onto my dresses. He had built the impenetrable safe that held the most dangerous secrets in the mafia underworld.

“He knew how to open it without the key,” Luca deduced, the pieces falling together. “He slipped away during the chaos in the garden, bypassed the lock, took the ledger, and left this drawing so you would know he had it.”

“Why would he do that?” I cried, panic rising in my chest. “Why would he steal the ledger?”

Before Luca could answer, his radio crackled to life.

“Boss,” Marco’s frantic voice echoed through the earpiece. “We have a breach in the panic room. Mr. Carter is gone.”

Luca grabbed the radio at his shoulder. “What do you mean he’s gone? How does a sixty-three-year-old carpenter escape a sealed panic room?”

“He didn't force the door, sir,” Marco said, sounding entirely bewildered. “He removed the ventilation grate from the inside. He must have carried a specialized screwdriver in his suit pocket. He crawled into the ductwork. We’ve lost him.”

Luca let out a heavy breath, running a hand through his dark hair. “He didn't just carry a screwdriver, Marco. He built the ductwork in this house twenty years ago. He knows the blueprints better than we do.”

“Sir,” Marco’s voice dropped, growing even more tense. “That’s not the worst of it. We just got word from the front gate. Richard Bellini’s men are massing on the main road. If we don't produce the ledger to the Commission within the hour to prove Bellini’s treason, they are going to breach the gates. It will be a bloodbath.”

“Hold the perimeter,” Luca ordered. “I’m finding Carter.”

He clipped the radio back to his shoulder and turned to me.

“Your father took the ledger to protect you,” Luca said softly, seeing the absolute terror in my eyes. “He knows that whoever holds that book holds the power to destroy the Bellinis. He’s trying to draw their fire away from you and my family.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “He’s going to get himself killed! He’s an old man, Luca! He can't fight a mafia army!”

“He fought Lorenzo Rossi and won,” Luca reminded me gently. “But you’re right. He’s out of time. Emily, you know him better than anyone. Where would he hide in a house he built twenty years ago? Where would he go to secure the ledger?”

I closed my eyes, forcing down the panic, desperately searching through my memories.

Dad had always been a creature of habit. He loved structure. He loved strong foundations. When I was a little girl, whenever he was worried about paying the bills or keeping us safe, he would retreat to his small basement workshop. He said the smell of raw wood grounded him.

I opened my eyes. “The old east wing renovations. The ballroom was built over the original foundation of the Rossi estate. There’s a hollow space beneath the floorboards—the old structural supports. It smells like damp cedar.”

Luca didn't hesitate. “Show me.”

We ran. We sprinted out of the wine cellar, back through the damp stone corridors, and up the servant stairs. The estate was eerily quiet, the calm before the storm of an all-out siege.

We burst through the doors of the grand ballroom, the same room where the engagement dinner had unraveled hours ago.

The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the massive windows.

I ran to the far corner of the room, near the heavy velvet curtains, and dropped to my knees. I ran my hands over the polished oak floorboards, feeling for the slight unevenness Dad had taught me to look for in old flooring.

“Here,” I whispered, finding a loose plank.

Luca knelt beside me. He wedged his fingers into the crack and pulled with brutal strength. The oak board popped free with a loud crack, revealing a dark, narrow crawlspace between the floor joists.

I shined the flashlight from Luca’s belt down into the dark.

Sitting in the dust, resting exactly where I knew it would be, was a heavy leather-bound book. The Moretti ledger.

“He left it here,” I breathed, reaching down to grab it.

But as I pulled the heavy book up into the moonlight, something slipped out from between the pages and fluttered to the floor.

It was a small, white envelope.

My name was written on it in Dad’s familiar, slightly shaky handwriting.

I picked it up, my hands trembling violently. I tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

My dearest Emily,

If you found this, it means you remembered what I taught you about foundations. You were always so smart. Smarter than I ever was.

A sob tore from my throat. Luca put a steadying hand on my shoulder, reading the letter over my arm.

I took the ledger because I knew Richard Bellini would never stop hunting Luca as long as the evidence existed. But they won't attack the estate if they think the ledger is gone. By the time you read this, I will be outside the gates. I have a flare gun from the panic room supplies. I am going to signal Bellini’s men, tell them I have the ledger, and lead them into the woods.

“No,” I screamed, scrambling to my feet. “No, he’s offering himself as bait!”

Give the ledger to Luca, the letter concluded. Let him destroy the Bellinis legally with the Commission. Do not follow me, sweetheart. I have lived my whole life trying to be a man you could be proud of. Let me do this one brave thing for you.

I love you, Dad.

Before I could even process the words, a brilliant, blinding streak of red light shot past the ballroom windows.