“TAKE THAT OLD MAN’S PLATE AWAY! HE’S HAD ENOUGH!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 27-YEAR-OLD MAID FOR SERVING HIS FATHER DINNER IN FRONT OF THIRTY-SIX GUESTS—BUT WHEN THE OLD MAN BEGGED HER NOT TO LEAVE HIM ALONE, THE MAFIA BOSS PUT DOWN HIS FORK AND ASKED ONE QUESTION THAT MADE HIS FIANCÉE GO PALE

The silence in the dining room was so absolute I could hear the crystal chandeliers softly clicking in the draft.

Thirty-six guests sat frozen, their expensive wine glasses halfway to their mouths. Beside me, Anthony’s hand was trembling violently. I wrapped my fingers around his, feeling the fragile, paper-thin skin over his knuckles.

At the head of the table, Dominic Romano did not blink. He slowly turned his head to look at the man sitting to the right of his empty chair.

His younger brother, Vincent.

Vincent, who handled the family’s international shipping routes. Vincent, who wore four-thousand-dollar suits and smiled at me every morning when I brought him black coffee.

Vincent chuckled, a dry, grating sound that echoed off the high ceiling. "Dad, come on. Your medication is making you see things again."

"I am not seeing things," Anthony said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "I remember the smell of your cologne, Vinnie. Tom Ford. You wore it that night. You stood behind me at the top of the marble staircase, and you put both hands on my shoulder blades."

Catherine gripped the back of her chair. "Dominic, this is insane. He’s been declining for weeks. We discussed this with Dr. Aris—"

"Shut up, Catherine," Dominic said quietly. He hadn't raised his voice, but the danger in those three words made her snap her mouth shut.

Dominic began walking down the length of the table toward his brother. Vincent stood up, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Dom, think about this," Vincent said smoothly. "Why would I hurt the old man? I love him. In fact, he gave me this just two days after the accident."

Vincent reached into his tailored vest and pulled out an object by a delicate silver chain. He placed it on the dining table.

It was a tarnished silver pocket watch.

Anthony gasped beside me. "My watch. I've been looking for that for months."

"You gave it to me, Dad," Vincent said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You said you wanted me to have it because I was taking such good care of the business while Dom was dealing with your hospital bills."

I stared at the heavy silver casing resting on the white tablecloth. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew that watch. When I first started working here, I used to polish it every Sunday.

"Mr. Vincent," I said. My voice was shaky, but I couldn't stop myself.

Vincent’s eyes darted to me, cold and flat. "Stay out of this, sweetheart."

"The watch," I continued, forcing myself to look at Dominic. "Sir, your father didn't give that to him two days after the fall."

Dominic stopped a few feet from his brother. "How do you know that, Emily?"

"Because your father lost it a year ago," I said. "He was heartbroken. He had me tear the library apart looking for it. The clasp is broken. It wouldn't stay on his chain."

Vincent’s jaw tightened. "She's a maid, Dom. She doesn't know what she's talking about."

Dominic picked up the watch. He didn't look at the face of it. He turned it over, running his thumb over the intricate engraving on the back. It was Maria’s initials.

"Funny," Dominic murmured, staring at the silver. "If Dad gave this to you after he fell, Vincent... why is there dried blood caught in the hinges of the casing?"

Vincent took half a step back.

Dominic pressed the small release button on the side. The watch popped open. Tucked inside the lid, perfectly folded to fit behind the glass, wasn't a picture of Anthony's late wife.

It was a train ticket.