SHE ABANDONED THIS FAMILY FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. DON'T YOU DARE OFFER HER A SEAT!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S AUNT HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD MAID FOR HELPING A POORLY DRESSED WOMAN AT HIS BIRTHDAY DINNER—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI RECOGNIZED THE WOMAN STANDING BEHIND HIS MAID, HE ASKED ONE QUESTION THAT MADE HIS AUNT DROP HER CHAMPAGNE GLASS

The drive back to the Gold Coast felt like descending into a nightmare.

Marco Romano wasn't just coming for a child; he was coming for an empire. If he secured custody of Grace, the Moretti family's legitimate businesses—the hotels, the shipping lines that employed thousands of innocent people—would fall into the hands of a ruthless cartel boss.

And the only thing stopping him was a small brass key hidden inside a wooden music box.

The van tore through the heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate. The sprawling mansion was lit up like a fortress. Luca's security perimeter had been tripled, with armed men stationed at every entrance.

We piled out of the van and rushed into the grand foyer. The birthday party guests had been evacuated hours ago. The house was eerily silent, smelling faintly of extinguished candles and spilled champagne.

"Emma," Luca ordered, his voice echoing in the marble hall. "Where did you put the music box?"

"I left it on the serving station in the dining room," I said, already running toward the archway.

We burst into the dining room. The massive mahogany table was covered in half-eaten plates and abandoned wine glasses.

I looked at the serving station.

It was empty.

"It's gone," I panicked, frantically checking the floor around the trash can where Celia had originally thrown it. "I left it right here."

Luca’s expression darkened. He turned to Celia, who was standing nervously near the doorway.

"Where is it?" Luca demanded, his voice a lethal whisper.

Celia shook her head aggressively. "I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't touch her garbage!"

"You're lying," Anna said, stepping forward. "You knew I made that box. You knew I was trying to tell him something."

Celia laughed bitterly. "You think I care about your pathetic woodworking? I have bigger problems right now! My accounts are frozen, Marco is hunting us, and I am ruined!"

Suddenly, Grace pulled on my apron.

I looked down. The thirteen-year-old girl was pale, her dark eyes wide with realization.

"Emma," Grace whispered. "I know where it is."

Luca stepped closer, kneeling so he was eye-level with his niece. "Where, sweetheart?"

"Grandma’s assistant, Maria," Grace said, pointing toward the servant's staircase. "Before the party ended, I saw Maria take the brown package upstairs. She took it to Grandma's office."

Luca stood up slowly, towering over his aunt.

"You had your assistant steal it," Luca realized. "You were going to destroy it."

Celia stepped back, her composure finally breaking. "I was protecting the trust! If you found the ledger, Marco would go to prison, yes! But the state would seize the trust fund pending a federal investigation! The money would be tied up for decades! I needed the money tonight!"

"To flee to Canada," I said, disgust dripping from my words.

Luca didn't waste another second. "Rossi, secure her in the wine cellar. She doesn't leave until I say so."

Celia screamed as two guards grabbed her arms, dragging her away from the dining room. "You need me, Luca! You don't know the banking codes! You're nothing without me!"

Her voice faded down the corridor.

Luca, Anna, Grace, and I ran up the grand staircase. We rushed down the velvet-lined hallway to Celia's private office.

Luca kicked the heavy oak door open.

The office had been ransacked. Drawers were pulled out, papers were scattered across the Persian rug, and the wall safe behind the painting was hanging open, completely empty.

Celia hadn't just been planning to run. She had been frantically packing her assets.

But sitting in the center of the mahogany desk, surrounded by shredded documents, was the wooden music box.

Anna let out a sob of relief and ran to the desk. She picked up the box, turning it over. With trembling fingers, she pressed hard on a small, hidden groove near the winding key.

There was a soft click.

The bottom panel slid away.

Tucked inside the hollow space was a tarnished brass key with the logo of First National Bank stamped into the metal.

"We have it," Luca said, taking the key. He checked his watch. "It's 11:00 PM. The bank vault is closed, but the manager owes me a favor. I can have it opened in twenty minutes."

He turned to me.

"Emma. Take Anna and Grace to the panic room in the basement. Lock it from the inside. Do not open it for anyone but me."

I nodded, gripping Grace's hand.

But before we could move, a massive explosion shook the foundation of the mansion.

The sheer force of the blast shattered the office windows, sending a shower of glass raining down on us. I threw myself over Grace, shielding her head as we hit the floor.

Smoke began to pour through the hallways. The mansion's fire alarms screamed to life.

Rossi's voice crackled frantically over Luca's radio.