TAKE A PICTURE OF US, DIANE. I WANT TO REMEMBER THE NIGHT HE FINALLY CHOSE ME.” THE MAFIA BOSS'S MISTRESS HANDED HIS WIFE A PHONE IN THEIR OWN LIVING ROOM—BUT WHEN HER HUSBAND PUT HIS ARM AROUND THE YOUNGER WOMAN, HIS WIFE ASKED HIM TO DO ONE LAST THING

“That’s the key to locker 402 at Union Station. Daniel said if you ever loved him, you’ll take whatever is in that locker, get on the train, and never come back.”

I stared at the brass key. It was cold and heavy in my palm.

“He wants me to run,” I said.

Marcus nodded slowly. “He’s trying to save your life, Susan. Victoria’s family—they don't leave loose ends. The house was just the down payment. Once they strip him of his assets, they’ll put him in the ground.”

I looked at the Amtrak ticket. Montreal. A new city. A new life. Safe, quiet, and entirely alone.

Thirty years ago, I had promised a boy with a camera that I would never let him face the world alone. He had broken his vows to me. He had lied, cheated, and betrayed me. But as I looked at the train ticket, I knew I couldn't run.

“I’m not getting on that train,” I said, sliding the ticket back to Marcus.

“Susan, please. You don't know these people.”

“No. But they don't know me.” I gripped the brass key. “I’m going to Union Station.”

I drove through the desolate, rain-slicked streets of downtown Chicago. Union Station at 2:00 AM was a cavern of echoes and shadows. The homeless huddled on benches, and the janitors pushed mops across the marble floors.

I found the bank of rusted luggage lockers near the lower concourse.

400. 401. 402.

My hands shook as I inserted the brass key. It turned with a heavy clack.

I pulled the metal door open.

Inside sat a worn, brown leather satchel. It was Daniel’s old work bag—the one he carried when we were first married, before the briefcases and the expensive suits.

I pulled it out and set it on a nearby bench. The leather was stiff with age. Unbuckling the straps, I reached inside.

First, I found bundles of cash. Thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills wrapped in rubber bands. Easily fifty thousand dollars.

Second, a passport. I flipped it open. It had my photo, but the name read Susan Rossi. A cruel joke, or a brilliant disguise?

Finally, at the bottom of the bag, I found a handwritten letter and a tarnished gold pocket watch.

I recognized the watch immediately. It belonged to the old Don of the Rossi family. The man Daniel had supposedly stolen from thirty years ago.

I unfolded the letter. Daniel’s sharp, slanted handwriting filled the page.

Sue,

If you are reading this, I am already dead, or about to be. I am so sorry. I lied to you tonight because Victoria was watching. I had to break your heart so you would leave the house willingly. The Rossi family is demanding everything. They have Emily’s husband by the throat, and they have me backed into a corner.

Thirty years ago, I stole the deeds to the entire South Side waterfront from old Don Rossi. I hid the original documents inside your father’s casket. But last week, I went to retrieve them to pay off my debt, and they were gone. Someone took them. Without those deeds, I have no leverage. I am a dead man.

Take the money. Go to Montreal. I loved you every single day.

- Daniel.

I read the letter twice.

Daniel didn't have the deeds. He thought someone stole them.

But I remembered the day we buried my father. I remembered Daniel standing over the open casket before they lowered it. He had slipped a thick manila envelope under my father’s hands.

And later that night, paralyzed by grief, I had gone back to the mausoleum alone. I couldn't stand the thought of my father being buried with something ugly, something criminal. I had opened the casket, taken the envelope, and locked it away.

I just hadn't known what was inside it.

I had hidden it somewhere Daniel would never, ever look.

I stood up, grabbing the leather satchel. I knew exactly where those deeds were.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

It was Emily.

“Mom?” she cried, her voice panicked. “Mom, where are you?”

“I’m at the station, honey. What’s wrong?”