THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME DROP THE SILVER CARVING FORK IN FRONT OF THIRTY GUESTS—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CAUGHT HER HAND IN THE PANTRY DOOR,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I WAS HURT. The fork struck the porcelain platter with a terrible metallic sound. Thirty guests turned toward me.

The silence in the car was absolute, broken only by the frantic beating of the windshield wipers.

Luca sat entirely frozen. His knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel. He wasn't breathing.

“Luca,” I whispered, touching his shoulder.

He didn't move. He was staring blindly into the rainy Chicago night, the reality of what Vanessa had just done tearing through his soul. She had his niece. The child he had grieved, found, and lost again in the span of three hours.

“Luca, look at me,” I demanded, gripping his jacket.

He slowly turned his head. His dark eyes were shattered. The ruthless Mafia boss was gone; in his place was a man who had lost everything.

“I can’t lose her again, Grace,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “I’ll give her the tapes. I’ll give her the empire. I’ll let Donatello put a bullet in my head. I don’t care. She can have it all.”

“If you give her the tapes, she’ll kill you both,” I said fiercely, my own tears mixing with the rain on my face. “She leaves no loose ends. Mrs. Carter said so. If she gets that hard drive, Mia is dead anyway.”

“Then what do I do?!” he roared, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. “Tell me what to do, Grace! She has all the cards!”

“No, she doesn't.” I pulled my phone back out, my injured hand throbbing with a dull, sickening rhythm. “She thinks she has all the cards. But she made a mistake.”

I pulled out the silver pocket watch from my coat. I stared at my father’s name engraved on the back.

“Vanessa kept this watch as a trophy,” I said, my mind racing. “She hired me to keep me close, because my mother laundered money for them. But why did my mother do it for twenty years? Blackmail only works if there’s a threat. My mother thought Vanessa’s family would kill me if she didn't comply.”

Luca frowned, confused. “Grace, this isn't the time—”

“Listen to me!” I grabbed his arm. “Twenty years ago, my father found out they were using his ships for contraband. They killed him. But my father wasn't stupid. If he was going to the police, he would have had proof. Tangible proof. That’s why Vanessa’s family bought my mother off. Not just for silence. They were looking for whatever my father hid.”

Luca’s eyes widened slightly.

“When I was a little girl,” I continued, the memory suddenly crystal clear, “the day after my father died, my mother took me to the old St. Jude’s church. She took a photograph of me standing in front of the altar. She taped the photograph to the back of a vintage wooden music box that belonged to my grandmother, and she donated the box to the church’s charity vault. She told me, ‘If anything ever happens to me, go get the music box. The angels will protect it.’”

Luca stared at me. “You think the proof against Vanessa’s family is in that music box?”

“I know it is. My mother hid the original shipping ledgers inside it. She held it over Vanessa’s father as an insurance policy to keep us alive. If Vanessa’s family killed us, the ledgers would be released.”

I looked at the dashboard clock. 2:15 AM.

“Vanessa wants the hard drive with her fake audio,” I said, my voice hardening. “But if we walk into that theater with the original ledgers from twenty years ago—the ones that prove her father orchestrated a massive theft from Donatello’s father—we have leverage that predates her entire operation. Donatello hates Vanessa’s bloodline. If we give him proof her father stole from the syndicate, he will destroy her.”

Luca’s eyes narrowed. The despair in his face was rapidly being replaced by a cold, calculated fire.

“St. Jude’s is five blocks away,” Luca said, throwing the car into gear. “If we break in, how fast can you find it?”

“Five minutes.”

“We have twenty before she drops Mia from the roof.”

He slammed his foot on the gas. The car surged forward, tearing through the wet streets of Chicago.

We arrived at the towering stone facade of St. Jude’s at 2:21 AM. The church was dark, the massive iron gates padlocked.

Luca didn't hesitate. He pulled his pistol, attached a sleek black silencer, and shot the padlock twice. It shattered. We pushed through the heavy wooden doors into the cavernous, silent nave.

“The charity vault,” I whispered, running down the center aisle, our footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “It’s in the crypt below the altar.”

We raced down a narrow stone staircase into the damp, freezing crypt. Racks of dusty boxes, old furniture, and donated relics lined the walls.

“A music box,” Luca said, shining his penlight rapidly across the shelves. “What does it look like?”

“Dark mahogany. Silver clasps.” I frantically tore through boxes, my bandaged fingers screaming in agony. 2:25 AM. We were running out of time.

“Here!” Luca called out from the back corner.

I ran to him. Sitting on a dusty top shelf was a heavy, ornate wooden music box. I reached up and pulled it down, turning it over.

Taped to the bottom, faded and yellowed with age, was a photograph of a seven-year-old girl standing in front of an altar. Me.

With trembling hands, I pried the locked silver clasp open. The hinges groaned.

Inside, tucked beneath a velvet lining, was a small, leather-bound book. The original shipping ledgers from twenty years ago. The proof that Vanessa’s family had robbed the Mafia blind.

“We have it,” I breathed, tears welling in my eyes. I had just found the truth of my father’s death.

Luca took the book, shoving it into his jacket alongside the hard drive. He looked at me, his eyes burning with absolute determination.

“I’m going to the theater,” Luca said. “You are taking my car. You drive to Donatello’s estate. You show him this ledger. He’ll send his men.”

“No!” I grabbed his coat. “Vanessa knows me! If I’m not there, she’ll know something is wrong. I’m coming with you.”

“Grace, if things go wrong in that theater, nobody walks out alive.”

“Then we don't walk out!” I yelled, the echo bouncing off the crypt walls. “She killed my father! She ruined my mother’s life! She’s trying to kill your niece! I am not sitting in a car while you face her!”

Luca stared at me. He raised his hand, gently touching the side of my face, his thumb brushing my jawline.

“You are the bravest woman I have ever met,” he whispered.