GET THAT FILTHY DOG OUT OF MY WEDDING PHOTOS—AND TAKE THE MAID WITH HIM!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE SCREAMED. BUT WHEN I BUILT A LITTLE FORT UNDER THE DINING TABLE FOR HIS TREMBLING OLD DOG, THE BOSS FROZE. “MY DAUGHTER USED TO DO THAT,

The rain was a solid wall of freezing water, soaking through my thin cardigan instantly. I struggled to keep the umbrella over Buddy as we followed Gabriel and his security chief across the sprawling, manicured lawn.

The old greenhouse sat at the edge of the estate, surrounded by overgrown thorn bushes. It was a massive glass structure, built in the Victorian style, but the glass was filthy, covered in years of grime and creeping ivy.

Gabriel stopped in front of the heavy iron doors. The heavy padlock that had secured it for five years was broken, lying in the mud.

“He’s inside,” the security chief whispered, raising his weapon.

Gabriel pushed the iron doors open. They groaned in protest.

Inside, it smelled of rotting earth and damp decay. The beam of Gabriel’s flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating rows of dead, withered plants in cracked terracotta pots.

“Michael!” Gabriel’s voice boomed through the glass walls. “It’s over!”

No answer. Only the deafening sound of rain pounding on the glass roof.

Buddy sniffed the ground, letting out a low whine. He pulled away from me, trotting down a narrow aisle between the dead plants.

“Buddy, wait!” I called out, hurrying after him.

The dog stopped in front of a large, rusted metal grate set into the floor. It looked like an old drainage cover. But Buddy was pawing at it, his tail wagging frantically.

Gabriel hurried over, shining the light down.

The grate had been slid partially open. Beneath it wasn’t a drain. It was a set of concrete stairs leading down into complete darkness.

“A root cellar,” Gabriel murmured. “I haven’t been down here since I was a teenager.”

“Sir, let me go first,” the security chief said.

But Gabriel was already descending, his flashlight beam piercing the gloom. We followed him down, the air growing colder and staler with every step.

At the bottom of the stairs, the light hit a heavy wooden door. It was slightly ajar.

Gabriel pushed it open.

I gasped, covering my mouth with both hands.

It wasn’t an empty cellar. It was a room. A perfectly preserved, meticulously clean child’s bedroom.

There was a small bed with a pink quilt. A shelf full of pristine children’s books. A small wooden desk with a jar of crayons. And sitting in the center of the room, lit by the beam of the flashlight, was Michael.

He was sitting in a small rocking chair, holding a child’s stuffed rabbit. He looked up at us, his eyes wide and vacant, completely devoid of the sharp arrogance from the study.

“I kept it nice for her, Gabe,” Michael whispered, stroking the rabbit’s ears. “I kept it safe.”

Gabriel lowered the flashlight, his whole body trembling. “What is this, Michael?”

“She was supposed to come here,” Michael said, tears welling in his eyes. “Elena was taking her away from us. She said our family was cursed. She said the mafia life would ruin Lucy.”

Michael stood up, dropping the rabbit. “I set up the lake house fire, Gabe. To kill Elena. I was going to pull Lucy out. I was going to bring her here, where she’d be safe with me! Where no one could ever hurt her!”

He was completely unhinged. A monster who had convinced himself he was a savior.

“But she didn’t come out, Michael,” Gabriel choked out, tears spilling down his face. “She burned.”

Michael smiled a terrible, broken smile. “No, Gabe. She didn’t burn.”

He pointed to the far corner of the room.

My blood ran cold as I followed his finger. Sitting on the desk, half-hidden in the shadows, was a fresh, half-eaten sandwich on a paper plate.