“She eats upstairs,” the mafia boss’s fiancée said, lifting his mother’s dinner plate.

The night air was freezing, biting through my thin jacket as we pulled into a neighborhood I didn’t recognize. Vincent drove a black SUV, keeping the headlights off as we rolled to a stop at the end of a cul-de-sac.

He pointed through the windshield. "Look."

At the end of the street sat a small, unassuming house. The lawn was overgrown, the windows dark. But the front door was painted a bright, unmistakable red.

"The house from the drawing," I breathed.

"Marco owns this property through a shell company," Vincent explained, shifting the car into park. "I never knew what he used it for. Now I do."

We walked up the driveway in silence. Vincent didn't bother knocking. He produced a set of lockpicks from his coat and had the door open in under ten seconds.

The inside of the house smelled like dust and dried lavender. I fumbled for the light switch, but Vincent caught my wrist in the dark.

"No lights," he whispered. He clicked on a small flashlight.

We moved through the living room. It looked like someone had left in a hurry. A half-empty cup of coffee sat on the coffee table, a layer of mold floating on top. Toys were scattered across the rug.

I picked up a small, stuffed rabbit. It was worn, loved. Tears pricked my eyes. My sister had a whole life here.

"Claire, in here," Vincent called out softly from the back bedroom.

I hurried in. Vincent was shining his light on an open closet. It was completely empty. No clothes, no shoes, nothing.

"They packed up," I said, my chest tightening. "He moved them."

"Not Marco," Vincent said. He knelt down and picked something up off the floorboards.

He handed it to me. It was a gold bracelet. Thick, heavy, and undeniably expensive. I recognized it immediately. I had seen it on Vanessa’s wrist just this morning.

"Vanessa was here," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

"She found out about Lily and the child," Vincent said grimly. "Before she got pregnant. She didn't want to share Marco's cut of my money with a second family."

A floorboard creaked in the hallway behind us.

We both froze.

Vincent reached into his coat and pulled out a handgun, pushing me behind him. The beam of his flashlight cut through the dark, landing on a small figure trembling in the doorway.

It was a little girl, no older than four, clutching a blanket.

"Lily?" she whispered, squinting into the light.