THE DRIVE TO THE RENTAL HOUSE

Gabriel kept his gun leveled at Victor with one hand while he reached down with the other and picked up the wooden rosary.

His thumb traced the edge of the silver cross. There was a tiny, almost invisible hinge. He pressed it.

The back of the cross popped open.

Inside, tightly folded, was a tiny photograph.

Gabriel unfolded it with one hand. He stared at the image, his eyes narrowing. The color slowly drained from his face, replaced by a dark, terrifying fury.

He threw the photo onto the coffee table.

I looked down at it.

It was a grainy, nighttime photo taken at the marina. It showed Gabriel’s late wife, standing on the deck of her boat, handing a thick manila envelope to a man.

The man was Eric Tanner.

“Eric,” Gabriel breathed, the pieces finally clicking together. “He knew her.”

“Eric wasn’t just a random guy who happened to meet your daughter Lauren years later,” Victor said smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “He was working for your wife fifteen years ago. He was her private investigator.”

My mind spun. “Why did she need a private investigator?” I asked.

Victor looked at me, a cruel amusement in his eyes. “Because she was building a divorce case against Gabriel. She was going to take half his empire.”

Gabriel didn’t argue. He just stared at the photo.

“Sloane took this picture from the dock,” Victor continued. “She saw Eric Tanner take the envelope. Ten minutes later, your wife’s boat exploded.”

“You’re telling me Eric killed her?” Gabriel asked, his voice low and vibrating with rage.

“I’m telling you Eric was the last person to see her alive. And he took the evidence she had gathered. Years later, he used that information to force his way into your family by marrying Lauren.”

It all made sense now. The horrible marriage. Eric’s refusal to let Lauren go. Sloane manipulating him tonight.

Sloane knew Eric’s secret. She had been blackmailing him, using him as a pawn to destabilize Gabriel’s family from the inside.

“Where is Sloane now?” Victor asked, checking his watch. “I assume you locked her up?”

“She’s in my library,” Gabriel said.

“Good. I suggest you hand her over to the police, along with this photo. Let Eric take the fall for the murder. Let my daughter rot for extortion. I wash my hands of both of them.”

Victor walked toward the door. Gabriel didn’t stop him.

Once Victor was gone, the apartment felt suffocating.

I looked at Gabriel. He was staring at the wall, completely hollowed out by the betrayal. His wife. His daughter’s husband. His fiancée. Everyone had lied to him.

I walked over and gently touched his arm.

“Gabriel.”

He looked down at me.

“We have the ticket,” I said softly, reminding him of the airport locker ticket in his pocket. “Sloane’s coat. The one from fifteen years ago. If Victor is telling the truth, whatever Eric put in that locker... Sloane has the key.”

Gabriel’s eyes focused. The grief vanished, replaced by an iron resolve.

“Let’s go,” he said.

We drove back to the estate in silence. The rain had stopped, leaving a heavy fog over the grounds.

Martin was waiting in the foyer when we walked in.

“Is she still in the library?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes, sir. She hasn’t made a sound.”

Gabriel unlocked the heavy oak doors. We stepped inside.

The library was dark, lit only by the embers of the fireplace.

Sloane was sitting in one of the leather armchairs. She looked up as we entered.

“Did you check on your son, Erin?” she asked, a smug, exhausted smile on her face.

“He’s fine,” I said coldly. “Your father decided you weren’t worth the trouble.”

Sloane’s smile fractured. “My father was there?”

“He left you to burn, Sloane,” Gabriel said, tossing the tiny photograph onto her lap.

Sloane stared at the picture of Eric and the late wife.

“I know Eric was working for her,” Gabriel said. “I know he took the envelope. And I know you have the key to the locker where he hid it.”

Sloane gripped the arms of the chair. “If you turn me in, Gabriel, I’ll tell the police you ordered the hit on your wife. Who do you think they’ll believe? The grieving widower, or the mob boss with a violent past?”

Gabriel didn’t blink.

“They’ll believe the evidence,” he said.

He walked over to the large painting above the fireplace and pulled it aside, revealing a hidden wall safe.

Sloane leaped out of her chair. “Don’t touch that! It’s mine!”

Gabriel punched in the code—his code—and pulled the heavy steel door open.