THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE TOLD ME TO SEAT HIS EIGHTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD FAMILY CLOCKMAKER WITH THE STAFF—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI SAW THE OLD MAN HOLDING HIS FATHER’S POCKET WATCH, HE STOOD UP AND SAID, “THAT WATCH WAS BURIED WITH HIM.” “He is not sitting at the engagement table.”

“Enzo is dead,” I said, my mind struggling to process the impossible. “He died in a boating accident ten years ago.”

“In this family,” my father said bitterly, “death is just a tool for relocation.”

“I’m not going alone,” I said firmly. “I’m calling Luca.”

“No!” my father grabbed my arm. “If Enzo is alive, he has resources Julian could only dream of. If you involve Luca, Enzo will kill him. You have to go to the shop. Find out what he wants.”

I didn’t want to leave my father, but the terror in his eyes left me no choice.

I drove to Arthur Bell’s small, cluttered clock shop in the heart of the city.

The bell above the door chimed as I walked in.

The shop smelled of brass polish and old wood.

Arthur was standing behind the counter, looking pale and terrified.

“Arthur,” I said gently. “Are you okay?”

He pointed a shaking finger toward the back room.

“He’s waiting for you,” Arthur whispered.

I gripped the brass key in my pocket and walked through the beaded curtain.

Sitting in an armchair, drinking a cup of tea, was Enzo Bellini.

He was older, his hair completely white, but his sharp, predatory eyes were exactly the same as the portraits in the mansion.

“Emma Reed,” Enzo smiled. “Or should I say, Ricci.”

“What do you want?” I demanded.

“Julian was a fool,” Enzo said casually, setting his teacup down. “He wanted power. I just wanted the money. When Michael drafted the trust, he locked away billions of dollars in legitimate assets. Julian killed him for the empire, but I took the coat because I knew Michael hid the account codes.”

“Julian blackmailed your daughter,” I spat. “He threatened your granddaughter.”

“A small price to pay to stay hidden,” Enzo shrugged callously. “Vanessa is soft. But you, Emma, you have your father’s grit.”

Enzo stood up.

“There is a second clock,” Enzo said, pointing to a massive, dark wood grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the back room. “Arthur built two of them. One for the mansion. One for himself.”

I looked at the clock.

“Use the key, Emma,” Enzo ordered, pulling a small silver pistol from his coat. “Open the compartment. Give me the account codes, and I’ll let you and your father live in peace.”

I walked over to the clock.

I found the small hole behind the pendulum.

I inserted the brass key.

It clicked.

The hidden panel opened.

I reached inside.

My fingers brushed against a thick stack of papers.

I pulled them out.

But they weren’t bank codes.

They were medical records. And a single photograph.

Enzo frowned, stepping closer. “What is that? Give it to me.”

I looked at the photograph and smiled.