My mafia boss husband had just admitted that someone in our house ordered my mother's murder.

I stared at the silver locket resting on the cold metal of the car hood.

"You're lying," I said, my voice shaking. "You confessed in the study. You said you gave the order."

Dominic checked over his shoulder. The estate security guards were already swarming the front steps. "I confessed because Vincent was holding a gun to Celeste's head under the table," he growled. "He knew you were listening. He needed a scapegoat."

Anthony pulled at my sleeve. "Mom, they're coming."

I grabbed the locket and shoved Anthony into the passenger seat. Dominic opened the back door and slid in.

"Drive," Dominic barked. "Take the old service road. They won't expect that."

I slammed the gas pedal. The tires spun, kicking up gravel as we tore away from the only home I'd known for two decades.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I was trapped in a car with my husband's enforcer, fleeing my own sister, who had stolen my marriage. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Why would Vincent kill her?" I demanded, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. "If Claire and Vincent were already secretly married, what did my mother have that was worth killing her over?"

"Open the locket," Dominic said from the backseat.

I kept my eyes on the dark, winding road. "Anthony, open it."

My son picked up his grandmother's locket. He pressed the small clasp.

"It's empty, Mom," Anthony said, his voice trembling. "Just the old picture of you and Aunt Claire as kids."

"Pry the picture out," Dominic instructed.

Anthony hesitated, then used his thumbnail to pop the small oval photograph out of its silver casing.

He gasped.

"There's a micro-SD card glued to the back," Anthony whispered.

"Your mother didn't just find bank statements," Dominic said, his voice heavy with grief. "She found Vincent's insurance policy. The real reason he married Claire."

"Tell me," I snapped.

"Vincent is sick, Evelyn. He has a genetic liver disease. He's known for eight years. He needs a partial transplant to survive the next decade."

The pieces began to violently snap together in my mind. Eight years ago. The exact time Claire and Vincent got 'married'.

"But I was tested," I said, my mind racing. "When we thought he was sick years ago, I wasn't a match."

"No," Dominic said softly. "But Claire was."

I slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt on the dark, empty road.

I turned around to look at the hardened mafia enforcer. "He married her for her organs?"

"He married her to control her," Dominic corrected. "He bought her debts, isolated her, and promised her your life in exchange for a piece of her liver when the time came. But your mother found the medical files. She realized Claire wasn't just a willing mistress—she was a trapped donor. Your mother was going to the feds to blow the whistle on his entire operation to save Claire."

My breath caught in my throat. My mother hadn't been snooping for money. She had been trying to save my sister.

And Claire had stood in that ballroom tonight and helped the man who killed our mother.