**THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE MADE ME REMOVE MY $39 WEDDING RING IN FRONT OF THIRTY DINNER GUESTS. “A MAN WHO LOVES HIS WIFE WOULDN'T GIVE HER SOMETHING THIS CHEAP,” SHE SAID. BUT WHEN MY HUSBAND WALKED INTO THE MANSION STILL WEARING HIS GREASE-STAINED MECHANIC'S SHIRT, LUCA NOTICED WHAT HE WAS CARRYING—AND STOOD UP.**

The dial tone echoed in our freezing apartment.

Ben stared at his phone, his face a mixture of absolute shock and rising fury. “She owns the building? How is that even possible?”

“She’s a Bellini,” I whispered, stepping away from the open window. “They own half the real estate in the city. If she wanted this building, she could buy it with pocket change.”

“Hannah, we have nowhere else to go,” Ben said, the reality of the situation hitting him hard. He looked at the slashed couch, the smashed TV, and the empty closet. “She took all my clothes. She destroyed our home just because I embarrassed her at a dinner party?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. The pieces were falling into place too quickly, forming a picture much darker than a ruined dinner. “This isn't about the dinner, Ben. She told you I had to choose between my job and my marriage before you ever walked into that dining room.”

Ben frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Vanessa was already trying to force me to move into the estate full-time,” I explained, my mind racing. “She needed me isolated from you. The dinner was just the catalyst. She bought this building yesterday. She was planning to evict us before tonight even happened.”

“But why?” Ben asked, stepping closer to me. “You’re just a maid, Hannah. Why is the fiancée of a mafia boss so obsessed with controlling where you live?”

I didn't have an answer.

But I didn't have time to figure it out, either.

The wail of police sirens suddenly cut through the night air, growing rapidly louder. They were coming down our street.

“She wasn't bluffing,” Ben realized, grabbing my hand. “She actually called the cops.”

“Ben, we can't be here when they arrive,” I panicked. “If they arrest us for trespassing or vandalism, we can't afford bail. You’ll lose your job at the garage.”

“Grab whatever is left,” Ben ordered, springing into action.

We scrambled through the wreckage of our life. I grabbed my purse, our important documents from a hidden floorboard stash, and Ben’s only remaining jacket from the back of a chair.

We ran down the back fire escape just as the flashing red and blue lights illuminated the front of the brick building.

The autumn air was biting, but adrenaline kept me warm. We hit the alleyway, sprinting away from the black SUV that was still idling near the dumpsters.

We ran for five blocks until my lungs burned and I couldn't take another step.

We ducked into a 24-hour laundromat, hiding between the humming machines. The fluorescent lights flickered above us.

Ben leaned against a washing machine, panting heavily. He looked at his grease-stained mechanic's shirt, the only clothing he had left in the world.

Then he looked at me.

“Happy anniversary, Hannah,” he said, a bitter, defeated laugh escaping his lips.

I stepped forward, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, burying my face in his chest. “I'm so sorry, Ben. This is my fault. If I had just quit—”

“Don't you ever say that,” Ben interrupted fiercely, resting his chin on top of my head. “You did nothing wrong. We will figure this out. I have a little cash hidden in my toolbox at the garage. We can stay at a motel tonight.”

I nodded against his chest, though I knew the cash wouldn't last more than two days.

As I pulled back, my hand brushed against the pocket of my uniform apron, which I was still wearing beneath Ben's jacket.

I felt something hard and heavy inside.

I frowned, reaching into the pocket.

It wasn't my silver wedding ring. Ben had already put that back on my finger.

I pulled the object out and stared at it under the harsh laundry lights.

It was a thick, ornate brass key.

“What is that?” Ben asked, wiping a smudge of dirt from his forehead.

“I don't know,” I whispered. “It wasn't in my pocket before dinner.”

I turned the heavy key over.

There was a small, faded tag attached to it with a piece of wire.

The handwriting on the tag was elegant, written in faded black ink.

Moretti Estate — South Wing Library.

My heart skipped a beat.

The South Wing Library had been locked and sealed since the day I started working at the mansion. Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper, told me it had been closed off ten years ago when Luca’s father passed away. Nobody was allowed inside.

“How did this get in your pocket?” Ben asked.

I thought back to the dining room. To the chaos of Vanessa demanding I remove my ring. To Luca standing up.

And then I remembered.

When Luca pulled out the chairs for Ben and me, he had briefly brushed past my side. He had placed his hand near my apron to guide me into the seat.

“Luca put it there,” I breathed, the realization sending a shockwave through my system.

“The mafia boss?” Ben asked, skeptical. “Why would he slip you a key to a locked room in his own house?”

“I don't know,” I said, staring at the brass metal. “But Vanessa is terrified of me going home to you. She wanted me trapped at the estate. And Luca just gave me the key to the only room in that house nobody is allowed to enter.”

Ben looked at the key, then at my terrified face.

“Hannah, we can't go back there,” Ben said firmly. “These people are dangerous. They just destroyed our home. We need to go to the police.”

“The police won't touch the Bellini family, Ben,” I argued softly. “And if we run, Vanessa will hunt us down. She owns half the city.”

I looked at the brass key.

“The only way to stop her is to find out why she wants me isolated,” I said. “And I think the answer is in that library.”

Ben sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He knew I was right, even if he hated it.

“Okay,” Ben said, his jaw setting with a stubborn resolve I had always loved about him. “But you aren't going back there alone.”

“Ben, you can't come to the mansion,” I protested. “Security will shoot you.”

“I’m not letting my wife sneak around a mafia compound by herself,” Ben stated. “I know how to bypass commercial security systems. I do it at the garage all the time.”

He reached out and gently touched the thirty-nine-dollar silver ring on my finger.

“One year down,” Ben whispered. “Forever to go. Right?”

I smiled through my tears. “Right.”

Two hours later, under the cover of darkness, Ben and I were crouching in the thick hedges near the back perimeter of the Moretti estate.

The mansion was completely dark, save for the security lights illuminating the sprawling lawns.

Ben expertly picked the lock on the heavy iron service gate, and we slipped quietly onto the grounds.

We navigated the shadows, moving toward the South Wing. The massive glass doors leading to the sealed library were just ahead.

I pulled the brass key from my pocket. My hands were shaking.

I slipped the key into the old lock. It turned with a heavy, satisfying click.

We pushed the doors open and stepped into the pitch-black room.

Ben clicked on his flashlight, sweeping the beam across the space.

The library was massive, covered in a decade of dust. Bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes. The air smelled of old paper and stale secrets.

“What are we looking for?” Ben whispered.

I didn't know.

I walked toward the center of the room, shining my phone's flashlight across a large, ornate mahogany desk.

Sitting perfectly centered on the dusty desktop, untouched for ten years, was a silver picture frame.

I picked it up, wiping the thick layer of dust from the glass.

I stared at the photograph inside.

My breath caught in my throat. The flashlight dropped from my hand, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.

“Hannah?” Ben asked, rushing over. “What is it?”

He picked up the flashlight and shone it on the photograph.

Ben froze.