MY EX-HUSBAND GRABBED MY WRIST AT THE MAFIA BOSS’S DINNER AND CALLED ME A JEALOUS MAID—BUT WHEN LUCA SAW THE RING ON HIS NEW FIANCÉE’S FINGER, HE MADE EVERYONE STOP EATING.

The line went dead.

The silence in the empty house was deafening, broken only by the sound of rain drumming against the roof.

“The hall closet,” I whispered, turning toward the narrow door near the front entrance.

Marco moved first. He pulled open the closet door. It was mostly empty, just a few wire hangers swinging on the rod. But pushed all the way to the corner was a garment bag.

I unzipped it with shaking hands.

Inside was my mother’s heavy navy wool coat. The one she wore every winter until she passed away. It still smelled like peppermint and cold air.

“Check the lining,” Luca said, standing close behind me, a protective warmth radiating from his chest.

I ran my hands along the hem of the heavy fabric. Near the bottom left seam, the stitches were torn. I slipped my fingers inside the dark gap.

My hand brushed against a small, stiff piece of cardboard.

I pulled it out.

It was a pawn shop ticket. Dated three days after my mother’s funeral.

“A pawn ticket?” Marco frowned, leaning in to look. “What did he pawn?”

I looked at the item description scrawled in faded blue ink.

Item: 18k gold cross necklace, diamond center.

My stomach plummeted. I knew exactly what necklace that was.

“Teresa’s cross,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal whisper.

I nodded, feeling a wave of nausea. “When my mother died, Teresa came to the funeral. She took off her own family heirloom—a diamond cross that had been blessed by the Pope—and placed it in my mother’s casket. She said it was to guarantee my mother a safe passage to heaven.”

“I remember,” Marco said softly.

“Blake told me he had the funeral director remove it before they closed the casket,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “He said he returned it to Teresa out of respect.”

Luca’s eyes were black pools of fury. “My mother never received it. We assumed you kept it as a comfort.”

“He pawned it,” I breathed. “He stole a priceless mafia heirloom from a grieving family and pawned it.”

“And now,” Luca said slowly, “Blake is using this ticket to tell us that he has proof of his crime. But why? Why tell us this now? It only incriminates him.”

“Because it’s not just a pawn ticket,” Marco said, turning the small piece of cardboard over.

On the back, written in Blake’s messy handwriting, was an address.

Room 412. The Whitmore Plaza.

“Celeste’s hotel,” I realized.

“He’s not running away,” Marco said, his jaw clenching. “He’s doubling down. He’s going after the hotel heiress.”

“He knows we’ll come for him because of the cross,” Luca said, already turning toward the door. “He wants us to come to the hotel. He’s setting a trap.”

“Let him,” Marco growled, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a heavy black pistol. “I’m done being blackmailed by this coward.”

“No guns, Marco,” Luca ordered sharply. “Not in a crowded hotel. Not around Nora.”

Marco hesitated, then holstered the weapon. “He’s dangerous, boss. He’s backed into a corner.”

“So am I,” Luca replied coldly.

We ran to the SUV. Marco followed in his own truck. The drive to the Whitmore Plaza was a tense, silent blur. My mind was spinning. I had a brother. My mother had adopted a child, lost him, and spent her life grieving in secret. And my ex-husband had used that pain, and my mother’s death, to line his own pockets.

When we pulled up to the glittering glass entrance of the luxury hotel, Luca didn’t wait for the valet. He parked the SUV on the curb, threw the keys at a startled bellhop, and grabbed my hand.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

We crossed the opulent lobby, Marco flanking us. The elevator ride to the fourth floor felt like an eternity. The soft jazz music playing in the cabin was sickeningly cheerful.

When the doors slid open, the hallway was completely silent.

We walked to Room 412.

The door was cracked open.

Luca pushed me gently behind him and nudged the door with his foot. It swung inward, revealing a trashed luxury suite. Lamps were overturned. Glass crunched beneath Luca’s shoes.

“Celeste?” I called out, my heart hammering in my chest.

A muffled sob came from the bedroom.

We rushed in.

Celeste was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face pale, mascara running down her cheeks. Her emerald gown was torn at the shoulder.

But it wasn't Blake standing over her.

Standing in the corner of the room, holding the pawn ticket in one hand and my mother’s diamond cross in the other, was Arthur Volante.

The disgraced notary.

“Hello, Luca,” Arthur smiled, a sickening, oily grin. “It’s been a long time.”

Luca stopped in his tracks, his body going completely rigid. “Arthur.”

“Blake was a fool,” Arthur chuckled, tossing the pawn ticket onto the bed. “He pawned the cross at my shop. He didn't realize who I was. But I realized exactly whose cross it was. I bought his debts. I own Blake now. And by extension, I own the deed to the house he forged.”

“The house belongs to Marco,” I said, stepping out from behind Luca.

Arthur laughed. “The deed Marco holds is a fake. I stamped it myself. The real deed was transferred to my holding company yesterday.”

Marco lunged forward, but Luca threw an arm across his chest, stopping him.

“What do you want, Arthur?” Luca demanded.

Arthur held up the diamond cross. “I want my place back in the family, Luca. I want my exile revoked. Or I take this cross, I take the girl’s house, and I tell the police exactly how your head of security financed his little real estate purchase.”

Arthur smiled, thinking he had won.

But then, a voice rang out from the doorway.

“You will do no such thing, Arthur.”