SHE ASKED TO EAT ALONE,” THE MAFIA BOSS’S SISTER SAID WHEN HE SAW ME HELPING HIS 76-YEAR-OLD MOTHER BACK INTO HER OWN BIRTHDAY DINNER

“What do you mean, a wheelchair?” Dominic asked gently, crouching so he was eye-level with his daughter.

Mia pointed her small finger toward the main house. “When Mommy brought me here three weeks ago to look for you, a lady in a shiny chair wheeled out to the porch. She gave Mommy the key and told her to run before the bad man saw us.”

Dominic stood up, the brass key cutting into his palm.

“My father had a sister,” Dominic said, his voice barely a whisper. “Aunt Rosa. She lost her legs in a car accident twenty years ago.”

“Where is she?” I asked.

“She died ten years ago. Or at least, that’s what Bianca told the family when I was overseas.”

The greenhouse suddenly felt ten degrees colder. Bianca hadn't just betrayed Dominic. She had been running a shadow empire within the family for a decade.

Dominic scooped Mia up into his arms. She instantly buried her face in his neck, wrapping her little arms around him. It was a sight that broke my heart, despite the terror surrounding us.

“Elena, grab Vincent’s gun,” Dominic ordered, his protective instincts in full control.

I hesitated, staring at the heavy black weapon in the dirt. I had never held a gun in my life. I cleaned floors. I served tea.

But I thought of my mother, terrified and alone, surrounded by Vincent’s men.

I picked it up. It was heavy, cold, and smelled like metallic oil.

“Hold it tight. Safety is off. Let’s go.”

We moved silently back through the dark woods toward the towering silhouette of the main estate.

“Where does this key go?” I whispered as we crept up to the stone patio.

“The old wine cellar,” Dominic said. “It has a steel door. Bianca claimed the lock jammed years ago and we lost the key. I never had a reason to check it.”

We slipped through the kitchen entrance. The house was dead quiet. The twenty-eight dinner guests were completely gone. Bianca had cleared the house.

As we walked down the grand hallway, the grandfather clock struck midnight.

Mrs. Moretti was nowhere to be found. The armchair I had left her in was empty.

“Mom?” Dominic called out softly.

Silence.

Panic gripped my throat. “She wouldn't have gone upstairs by herself. She struggles with the steps.”

“The cellar,” Dominic said firmly.

We rushed toward the heavy oak door leading to the basement. It was wide open.

Dominic led the way down the narrow stone steps, carrying Mia in one arm, his weapon raised in the other.

At the bottom of the stairs, a single bulb illuminated a massive steel door. The door to the old wine cellar.

Standing in front of it was Bianca.

She was dragging Mrs. Moretti by the arm, trying to force the terrified old woman down the corridor.

“Let go of her!” Dominic roared, his voice shaking the stone walls.

Bianca froze. She turned around, her face twisting in horror when she saw Dominic standing there with Mia.

“Dominic,” Bianca stammered, dropping her mother’s arm.

Mrs. Moretti collapsed against the stone wall, weeping. “Dominic, thank God. She was trying to lock me down here.”

Dominic stepped forward, his eyes locked on his sister. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in you right now.”

Bianca backed against the steel door. “You don’t understand. I did it for the family! Caroline was trash! She was going to ruin your reputation!”

“You let Vincent murder the mother of my child!”

“Vincent did what had to be done to protect our empire!” Bianca screamed. “You were soft, Dominic! You wanted to be a family man. This family needs a monster to survive!”

Dominic didn't blink. He walked up to the steel door, inserted the brass key into the lock, and turned it.

The heavy lock clicked open.

Dominic grabbed the iron handle and pulled the door wide.

The smell hit us first. Musty, damp, and smelling of old medicine.

I peaked inside the dark room, my hand tightening around the gun.

Sitting in the center of the cellar, wrapped in a filthy blanket in a rusted wheelchair, was an old woman. Her hair was matted, her face pale and sunken.

She looked up at the light, squinting her eyes.

Mrs. Moretti gasped. “Rosa?”

The woman in the wheelchair trembled. “Eleanor? Is that you?”

Bianca had kept her own aunt locked in the basement for ten years.

Dominic handed Mia to me. He turned to Bianca, his eyes dead and cold.

“You’re finished,” he whispered.

But Bianca just started laughing. A manic, broken laugh that echoed off the stone walls.

“You think you won?” she sneered.

Suddenly, my apron pocket vibrated.

I pulled out the burner phone I had taken from Vincent’s pocket.

It was ringing.

Bianca smiled. “Answer it, Elena. Tell Dominic what Vincent’s men just found.”