“THAT CHAIR IS FOR FAMILY, NOT A MAID'S LITTLE BOY!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE SCREAMED, DRAGGING MY FIVE-YEAR-OLD SON AWAY FROM THE DINNER TABLE.

The rain poured down in sheets as heavily armed SWAT officers swarmed the yard, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. They didn't tackle us. Instead, a tall man in a trench coat stepped forward, lowering his badge.

It was Detective Miller, a man who had investigated Matteo's disappearance three years ago—and the only cop on the payroll Luca truly trusted.

"You called it close, Luca," Miller grunted, wiping rain from his face. "When you texted me Silvio’s location, I didn't think we'd make it in time."

"Did you get him?" Luca demanded, breathing hard.

"We blocked the alley. My men have Silvio and his crew in cuffs right now." Miller looked down at Oliver, who was shivering against my chest. "Is this the kid?"

"He's a Moretti," Luca said fiercely. "And he's under my protection."

Miller nodded toward the street. "Get in my cruiser. We need to get you somewhere safe. Silvio's lawyers will have him out on bail by morning, and the mafia commission is still demanding your head."

We climbed into the back of the warm police cruiser. I wrapped my jacket around Oliver, rocking him gently until his breathing slowed.

Luca sat beside me, staring intently at the silver watch in his hands.

He turned on the dome light. He pulled out his pocket knife again and carefully wedged the blade beneath the back casing of the watch. With a soft pop, the metal plate came off.

I leaned in.

The inside of the casing wasn't smooth. It was covered in tiny, microscopic engravings. Dozens of digits.

"Routing numbers," Luca whispered, awe in his voice. "Matteo engraved the routing numbers for the ghost trust into the back of the watch. He literally placed the family's future in his son's hands."

Tears pricked my eyes. My husband had known he was walking into a trap. He had secured the money so Silvio couldn't steal it, and he gave the only key to Oliver, knowing a five-year-old’s cheap trinket would be ignored by everyone.

"So we have the money," I said. "We can give it back to the commission. We can clear your name."

"It's not that simple," Luca replied, his expression hardening. "Silvio still has Vanessa's sworn testimony that I killed Matteo. The commission will gladly take the money back, but they'll still execute me based on her lie. They need a scapegoat."

"But Vanessa was lying!"

"A mafia commission doesn't care about truth, Claire. They care about blood. Silvio has convinced them my blood is tainted."

"Then we make her tell the truth," I said firmly.

Luca looked at me, surprised by the steel in my voice. "She's loyal to Silvio. She won't break."

"She's loyal to money," I corrected. "And Silvio just got arrested. He can't protect her anymore."

An hour later, Miller dropped us off at a secure hotel downtown. Luca left guards at our door and took the watch. He needed to transfer the funds to a neutral account to prove to the commission he had the money.

I finally got Oliver out of his wet clothes and tucked him into the large hotel bed. He fell asleep almost instantly, his little hand gripping the now-empty watch casing.

I sat in the dark, staring at the wall, when the door opened softly.

Luca walked in. He looked exhausted, the weight of the night pulling at the corners of his eyes.

"The transfer is complete," he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the second bed. "The money is secured. I've called an emergency meeting with the commission for tomorrow morning."

"Will they listen to you?"

"They will listen to the money." Luca rubbed his face. "I had Marco track down Vanessa. She tried to flee the city when Silvio was arrested. My men have her in a warehouse."

I stood up. "Take me to her."

Luca frowned. "Claire, no. It's not safe—"

"She ruined my life!" I snapped, my voice trembling with three years of suppressed grief and rage. "She terrified my son. She lied about my husband. I am not sitting in a hotel room while you handle this. Take me to her."

Luca studied my face. For the first time, he didn't look at me like a maid, or a grieving widow. He looked at me as an equal.

"Okay."

We drove to a cold, sterile warehouse on the edge of the city. Inside, Vanessa was tied to a metal chair. Her red silk gown was ruined, her hair a tangled mess. She looked up, sneering as we walked in.

"Come to kill me, Luca?" she spat.

Luca didn't speak. He stepped aside, letting me walk forward.

Vanessa’s eyes widened when she saw me.

I walked right up to her. I didn't yell. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the photograph we had found behind Oliver's drawing—the photo of her kissing Marco.

"Silvio didn't know about this, did he?" I asked softly.

Vanessa stiffened.

"Silvio thinks you are his loyal spy," I continued. "But you were playing him, too. You were sleeping with Marco, trying to set up your own power play."

"What do you want?" she hissed.

"Tomorrow morning, you are going to stand in front of the commission," I said, my voice cold as ice. "And you are going to tell them exactly who killed my husband. Or I will send this photo to Silvio's jail cell. And you know what he does to traitors."

Vanessa stared at me, true fear finally breaking through her arrogance.

Then, from the shadows of the warehouse, a new voice echoed.

"She won't be testifying tomorrow."