THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO THROW AWAY HIS LATE FATHER’S OLD ARMY JACKET—BUT WHEN LUCA SAW WHAT FELL FROM THE POCKET, HE STOPPED THE ENTIRE PARTY.

I stared at the photograph of the little boy on my phone screen. Leo. My nephew. Luca’s son.

He looked terrified, sitting in a dark room, clutching my father’s silver pocket watch to his chest like a shield.

Luca snatched the phone from my hand. He stared at the image of his son for a long, agonizing minute. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the hospital room.

“Mr. Moretti!” I called out, chasing him down the hallway.

He didn’t stop until we reached the SUV. He yanked the driver’s side door open. The rain was coming down harder now, soaking his expensive suit.

“Go home, Emma,” Luca commanded, not looking at me. “This is mafia business now. Vanessa just declared war. I won’t have you caught in the crossfire.”

“That boy is my nephew!” I yelled over the rain, stepping in front of his car door. “My sister died in that crash. My father is lying in a hospital bed because of the stress of keeping this secret. You are not leaving me behind.”

Luca glared at me, his jaw clenched tight. We stood in the freezing rain, locked in a battle of wills.

Finally, he exhaled a sharp breath. “Get in.”

We drove back to the mansion in suffocating silence. When we walked inside, the house was dark and empty. The catering staff had cleared the engagement dinner and fled.

Luca went straight to his study. He picked up his father’s green Army jacket from the leather armchair where I had left it.

“Why does she want this jacket?” Luca muttered to himself, running his hands over the faded green fabric. “She ordered you to throw it away. Then she texts us asking for it. What did my father hide in here?”

I walked over. “May I?”

He hesitated, then handed it to me.

I was a housekeeper. I knew how to find things people tried to hide. I checked the lining, the seams, the cuffs. I ran my fingers along the collar.

Then, I felt it.

Inside the heavy breast pocket, tucked beneath a false seam, was something small and hard.

I carefully used a letter opener from Luca’s desk to snip the thread.

A small, heavy object fell into my palm.

It was an old wooden rosary.

The beads were worn smooth from years of use. But the crucifix at the bottom wasn’t made of wood. It was hollow silver.

Luca stared at it. “My father carried that every day of his life.”

I pressed my thumb against the back of the silver cross. There was a tiny latch. I clicked it open.

Inside was a tightly rolled piece of microfilm and a small, folded note written in Michael Moretti’s handwriting.

Luca carefully unrolled the note.

Luca,

If you are reading this, I am dead. Daniel Bellini didn’t save you from that crash twelve years ago. He caused it. He ran Clara’s car off the road to kill your unborn heir. But Arthur Reed, Clara’s father, found the wreckage first. He saved the boy. Arthur gave the child to me to hide, knowing Bellini would never stop hunting him.

I gave Leo to a trusted nurse to raise in secret until you were ready to take over the family. The nurse’s name was Vanessa Bellini.

I gasped, covering my mouth.

“My father trusted Vanessa,” Luca whispered, the betrayal burning in his eyes. “He didn’t know she was Daniel’s daughter. She used a fake last name. She infiltrated my father’s inner circle, took the baby, and waited twelve years to trap me.”

Luca turned to the window, looking out into the dark night.

“She’s been holding my son hostage in plain sight.”

He turned back to me, his eyes terrifyingly calm. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a heavy black handgun. He checked the magazine and slid it into his shoulder holster.

“Emma,” he said, his voice cold and precise. “Stay here. Lock the doors.”

“No.” I grabbed the Army jacket. “She told you to bring the jacket. If you show up without it, or if you show up guns blazing, she’ll hurt Leo.”

“I’m not negotiating with her.”

“You have to!” I pleaded, stepping into his space. “Luca, please. She has my father’s watch. She has your son. If we play this wrong, we lose them both. Let me come. I’m nobody. She won’t see me as a threat.”

Luca looked down at me. The hard, violent edge in his eyes softened just a fraction. He reached out and gently brushed a wet strand of hair behind my ear.

“If anything happens to you,” he said softly, “Arthur will never forgive me. And neither will I.”

“Then make sure nothing happens,” I said.

I put on the old Army jacket. It was far too big, the heavy green wool swallowing my frame.