THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO THROW AWAY AN OLD CASSETTE PLAYER DURING THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS DEAD LITTLE SISTER'S VOICE FILLED THE ROO

I stared at the boarding pass. The thick, block letters spelled out the impossible.

Teresa Caruso. Chicago (ORD) to Palermo (PMO).

“My mother died of a broken heart three years after Lily’s fire,” Vincent said. His voice was hollow, stripped of all the strength he had shown just moments ago. “I buried her next to my sister.”

“Then why does Marco have a flight booked for her tomorrow?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Agent Harris walked back into the kitchen, catching the end of our conversation. He looked at the ticket in Vincent’s hand and sighed heavily.

“Caruso,” Harris said, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s something you need to see. We just finished tossing Marco’s private office downtown.”

Vincent stood up slowly. “What did you find?”

“We found a safe,” Harris said. “And inside, we found banking records. Offshore accounts. Someone has been making massive monthly withdrawals from the syndicate’s trust fund for the past nineteen years.”

“Marco,” Vincent said immediately.

“No,” Harris corrected softly. “Marco was depositing the money. The person withdrawing it… is living in a private villa in Palermo.”

Vincent stepped back, as if he’d been physically struck.

“You’re telling me my mother is alive?”

Harris nodded. “We pulled Italian surveillance footage. It’s her, Vincent. She faked her death. Marco helped her do it.”

The room spun.

I looked at Ruth, who was sitting at the kitchen island, holding a cup of tea one of the medics had made for her. The old woman looked just as shocked as we were.

“Why would she leave you?” Ruth whispered, tears welling in her eyes again. “She loved you, Vincent. She loved you more than anything.”

Vincent’s face hardened. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp fury.

“She didn’t leave because she stopped loving me,” Vincent said bitterly. “She left because she was blackmailed. Marco knew she paid Sinclair to lock the stairwell.”

I gasped. “Wait. You said Marco locked the stairwell to kill Lily!”

“Marco ordered the hit,” Vincent said, piecing it together in real-time. His eyes darted back and forth as the horrifying truth settled in. “But my mother… my mother was the one who actually hired Sinclair to bypass the security.”

Vincent looked at the cassette player, still sitting on the counter where Natalie had abandoned it.

“My mother didn’t hire Sinclair to let her and Lily escape,” Vincent realized, his voice trembling. “She hired him to lock the doors. She wanted Lily trapped.”

The silence in the kitchen was suffocating.

“No,” Ruth cried out. “Teresa wouldn’t do that! She was a good mother!”

“Lily wasn’t her biological daughter, Mrs. Jensen,” Vincent said coldly. “My father had an affair. He brought Lily home when she was a baby. My mother pretended to love her, but she hated her. She hated the reminder of his betrayal.”

It all made terrible, sickening sense.

Teresa had worked with Marco. Marco wanted to hurt the Don. Teresa wanted to get rid of the illegitimate child. They used Sinclair to do it.

And when the guilt became too much, or when Marco demanded more control, Teresa faked her own death and fled to Italy on Marco’s dime.

Vincent looked at the ticket in his hand. He crumpled it into a tight ball.

“Marco was going to Sicily tomorrow,” Vincent said. “The feds were closing in. He was running. He was going to her.”

Vincent turned to Agent Harris.

“I want her arrested,” Vincent demanded, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Extradite her. Put her in the same cell block as Marco.”

Harris nodded slowly. “We’re already working with Interpol. We’ll have her in custody by morning.”

Vincent turned away, walking toward the large bay windows overlooking the dark estate. He placed his hands on the glass, staring out into the night.

He had lost his father to murder, his sister to a fire, his uncle to betrayal, and his fiancée to greed.

Now, he had lost the memory of his mother.

I told Tyler to sit with Ruth for a moment, and I walked over to the window.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t offer empty platitudes. I just stood beside him.

“I have nothing left, Olivia,” Vincent whispered, not looking at me. “My whole life… every memory I have… is built on a foundation of blood and lies.”

I reached out and gently touched his arm.

“Not everything,” I said softly.

He finally looked at me, his dark eyes searching my face.

“You broke the cycle tonight,” I told him. “You gave up your empire to do the right thing. You saved my son. You gave me the truth about my husband. That isn’t blood or lies, Vincent. That’s honor.”

Vincent stared at me, the tension in his jaw slowly releasing.

He lifted his hand and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch was incredibly gentle, completely at odds with the violence of the night.

“You stayed,” he whispered. “When you could have run. You stayed with me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I said honestly.

For the first time all night, a genuine, soft smile touched his lips.

“I know,” he said.

Before he could say anything else, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket again.

I pulled it out, assuming it was my landlord about the rent I was late on.

But the caller ID made the blood freeze in my veins.

It was a blocked number, but the location pinged across the screen.

Palermo, Italy.

Vincent saw the screen. His eyes widened.

I answered it, putting it on speakerphone.

“Hello?” I said, my voice shaking.