THE CHILD’S DRAWING IN THE GREENHOUSE

The basement was freezing.

Dominic stared at the note in Claire’s hand.

“She framed me,” he repeated. The realization hit him like a freight train.

“Think about it,” Claire said quickly, her mind racing. “If your mother poisoned Emily, she knew an autopsy would show the truth. She needed a scapegoat. She used my father for the police.”

“And she used me for Vincent,” Dominic finished, his eyes widening.

“Exactly,” Claire nodded. “She probably planted your watch in the greenhouse while you were passed out. She told Vincent that you had poisoned Emily, and begged him to help cover it up to save you.”

Dominic’s hands curled into fists.

Vincent had spent nine years believing he was protecting Dominic from a murder charge. He had dumped a dying twelve-year-old girl into a frozen lake to save the heir to the syndicate.

“And my mother died two days later,” Dominic whispered.

“Did she really die of a heart attack?” Claire asked gently.

Dominic looked up. The grief in his eyes was replaced by cold, absolute clarity.

“No. Vincent killed her.”

Claire gasped.

“Vincent loved Emily,” Dominic said, his voice turning to ice. “If he figured out my mother had manipulated him into drowning an innocent girl, he wouldn't have let her live.”

Suddenly, the air vents above them hissed.

Thick, grey smoke began pouring into the basement.

Claire coughed, covering her mouth with her sleeve. “He’s trying to kill us!”

“He’s burning the house to destroy the evidence,” Dominic said, pulling his shirt up over his nose. “He knows if we get out, he’s a dead man.”

Bruno began to bark, pacing frantically in front of the locked steel door.

“Captain, back!” Claire shouted over the crackle of flames echoing from upstairs.

“The door won't budge,” Dominic yelled, throwing his shoulder against it. “It’s solid steel!”

Claire looked around the dim, smoke-filled basement.

Her father’s lessons echoed in her mind. Fear is information. Look at where the dog goes when he’s trapped.

Bruno wasn't scratching at the door anymore.

He was running to the old brick fireplace in the corner of the basement—an old incinerator that hadn't been used in decades.

“Mr. Moretti!” Claire yelled, pointing at the dog. “The incinerator chute!”

Dominic ran to the brick fireplace. He grabbed the rusted iron handle of the ash clean-out door and yanked.

It groaned, but wouldn't open.

“Help me!” Dominic shouted.

Claire grabbed the handle alongside him. Together, they pulled with all their strength.

With a deafening crack, the iron door tore open.

A rush of cold, fresh air blew into the smoky basement. The chute led directly outside to the garden.

“Go!” Dominic ordered, shoving Claire toward the opening.

“What about Bruno?!”

Dominic didn't hesitate. He scooped the massive, eighty-pound German shepherd into his arms and shoved the dog through the narrow brick chute. Bruno scrambled up the incline and disappeared into the night air.

Claire climbed in next, fighting the claustrophobia as she crawled up the ash-covered bricks.

Dominic followed right behind her.

They tumbled out onto the frozen grass of the garden, coughing violently.

The entire west wing of the Moretti mansion was engulfed in roaring flames. Orange light danced across the snow.

“Are you hurt?” Dominic asked, grabbing Claire’s shoulders.

“I’m okay,” she coughed, her face covered in soot.

Bruno barked sharply.

They turned.

Standing ten feet away, holding a suppressed pistol, was Vincent.

He looked at Dominic with absolute sorrow.

“I really did love you, Dominic,” Vincent said softly.

He raised the gun.

But he didn't aim it at Dominic.

He aimed it at Claire.

“I can't let Samuel’s daughter ruin the family,” Vincent whispered.

Before he could pull the trigger, Dominic stepped directly in front of Claire.

“You want to protect this family, Vincent?” Dominic roared over the fire. “Then look at what you’re wearing.”

Vincent frowned, his hand trembling.

Dominic pointed at Vincent’s left hand.

Gleaming in the firelight was a heavy, gold family heirloom ring. A massive ruby set in gold.

“That ring belonged to my grandfather,” Dominic said, walking slowly toward the gun. “He gave it to the man who saved my father’s life in Sicily. The ultimate mark of loyalty.”

Vincent’s eyes filled with tears.

“You wear the mark of loyalty,” Dominic said softly, stopping inches from the barrel of the gun. “But you let my sister drown. You let an innocent man rot in prison. And you just tried to burn me alive.”

Dominic reached out and grabbed the barrel of the gun, pressing it directly against his own chest.