THE MAFIA BOSS NOTICED HIS 61-YEAR-OLD HOUSEKEEPER SERVING THANKSGIVING DINNER WITH ONLY ONE HAND—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE BURNED HERSELF ON THE OVEN,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY HER WRIST WAS BANDAGED. “Maria, pour the gravy.”

The ride to my small, single-story house in Cicero was the quietest car ride of my life. Dominic drove his armored SUV himself. Marco sat in the passenger seat. Evelyn sat in the back with me, wedged between the door and Marco’s imposing shadow. She hadn’t spoken a word since Union Station, but her eyes darted frantically, calculating her next move. My wrist throbbed, but I ignored it. We pulled up to my modest home. The porch light was burned out. The paint was peeling around the window frames. It was nothing like the Russo mansion. But it was mine. “Where is it, Maria?” Dominic asked as he put the car in park. “Inside,” I said. I unlocked the front door. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon and old wood. Evelyn pushed past me immediately, rushing toward the small hallway closet. “Evelyn, back away,” Dominic ordered, his voice echoing in the small foyer. She ignored him, throwing the closet doors open. She began ripping coats off the hangers, tossing them onto the floor. “Which one is it?” she demanded, tearing through my husband’s old jackets. I calmly walked over and picked up a heavy, dark green wool coat from the floor. It was beautiful, even after all these years. Teresa Russo had given it to me the winter my husband passed away, telling me I needed something warm to walk to the bus stop. “Give it to me,” Evelyn snapped, reaching for the fabric. Marco stepped between us, easily pushing her back with one hand. I handed the coat to Dominic. He held it reverently, recognizing his mother’s scent, even after six years. “She told me she altered the lining,” I said softly. “I never understood why until tonight.” Dominic ran his hands along the heavy seams of the dark green wool. Near the bottom hem, he felt something stiff. He pulled a small pocket knife from his suit and carefully sliced the thread. He reached inside the lining and pulled out a tightly rolled, yellowed document. The original 2019 Russo Family Trust Amendment. Evelyn exhaled heavily. “Finally.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me, Dominic. We tear it up, we get married, and this all goes away.” Dominic didn’t hand it to her. He unrolled the document and began to read his mother’s final words. As his eyes scanned the page, his expression changed. He didn’t look relieved. He looked confused. Then, devastated. He reached back into the lining of the coat. “There’s something else,” Dominic whispered. He pulled out a folded piece of construction paper. He opened it. It was a child’s drawing. Done in bright, sloppy crayons. I recognized it immediately. Sofia had drawn it when she was six years old. It showed a tall man, a little girl, and a beautiful woman with blonde hair. Elena. But on the back of the drawing, written in Teresa Russo’s elegant, cursive handwriting, was a message. Dominic read it aloud, his voice breaking. “My dearest Dominic. If you are reading this, I am gone. I could not tell you the truth while I was alive, because I was trying to protect you. Elena’s crash was not an accident.” Evelyn went completely still. Dominic continued reading. “I hired the mechanic to cut her brakes. Elena was going to take Sofia away to Europe. She was going to break our family apart. I did what I had to do.” The silence in my small hallway was absolute. Teresa Russo, the woman I had served for two decades, the woman Dominic worshipped, had murdered his first wife. Dominic stared at the drawing, his entire worldview shattering into a million pieces. “My mother,” Dominic choked out, dropping the paper. “My mother killed Elena.” Evelyn didn’t look shocked. She looked triumphant. She smiled, a slow, wicked grin. “I knew,” Evelyn whispered. Dominic’s head snapped up. “What?” “I figured it out months ago,” Evelyn said, crossing her arms. “I found the mechanic before he died. He confessed everything. That’s why I was in the basement today, Dominic. I wasn’t just looking for the trust amendment. I was looking for the proof that your mother was a murderer.” Evelyn stepped closer to him. “If you don’t marry me, Dominic,” she said, her voice dripping with poison, “I won’t just tell Sofia she’s adopted. I will tell her that her beloved grandmother murdered her mother. It will destroy your family’s legacy. It will destroy Sofia’s mind.” Dominic was paralyzed. The ultimate blackmail. Suddenly, a loud, metallic click echoed from the kitchen doorway. We all turned. Standing in the shadows was Dominic’s older sister, Carla. And she was holding Anthony’s silver revolver. “Nobody is telling Sofia anything,” Carla said coldly.