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.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

Lily stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the gun pointed at her chest.

Vanessa thrashed violently against Julian’s grip. “Take me! Leave her alone! She’s just a little girl!”

Luca lowered his weapon slightly, his eyes fixed on the child.

“You have a daughter?” Luca asked, his voice entirely hollow.

Vanessa wept openly. “I hid her. Julian told me if I didn’t marry you and find the envelope, he would take her away. I did it all to protect her, Luca. I’m so sorry.”

Julian laughed, a cruel, scratching sound.

“Family,” Julian sneered. “Always the weakest link. Move, kid. Come here.”

Lily didn’t move. She was trembling, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

I couldn’t just stand there.

I was a housekeeper. I served the wine. I polished the silver. But looking at that terrified little girl, I remembered how helpless I felt when my own father was suffering, trapped in a hospital bed while I fought to keep us afloat.

I slowly stepped sideways, sliding along the edge of the long dining table.

“Stop right there, Emma,” Julian snapped, his eyes darting toward me.

“She’s a child,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “Let her go. You want leverage? Take me. I’m the daughter of the man who holds the trust. I’m worth more to you than she is.”

Julian paused. His greedy mind processed the information.

He knew I was right. If my father controlled the legitimate wealth, I was the key to accessing it.

“Fine,” Julian said, shoving Vanessa to the floor. She scrambled desperately toward Lily, pulling her daughter into a fierce embrace.

Julian aimed the gun at me. “Come here. Hands where I can see them.”

I stepped out from behind the table.

As I walked toward him, I passed the large stainless-steel refrigerator near the kitchen entryway.

It was covered in magnets and notes.

And right in the center was a child’s drawing.

It was a sloppy crayon sketch of a big house, a man, a woman, and a little girl.

But earlier today, while cleaning, I had noticed what was written on the back of it when it fluttered to the floor.

I stopped right next to the fridge.

“Keep moving,” Julian barked.

“You think you’ve outsmarted everyone,” I said, staring directly into his eyes. “But you didn’t outsmart my father.”

Julian scoffed. “Your father is a vegetable in a nursing home.”

“Is he?” I asked.

I reached out and ripped the child’s drawing off the fridge.

Julian flinched, tightening his grip on the gun.

I flipped the drawing over and held it up.

Taped to the back of the thick construction paper wasn’t a note.

It was a sleek, black USB drive.

Julian’s eyes locked onto it.

“My father didn’t just hide the paperwork in the clock,” I lied, praying my bluff would work. “He digitized the ledgers. The real ones. The ones that prove you were skimming from the FBI too.”

Julian’s face went entirely white.

If the FBI found out he had been stealing from them while acting as an informant, his immunity deal was dead. He would spend the rest of his life in a federal supermax.

“Give me that,” Julian demanded, stepping away from the doorway and rushing toward me.

He made a fatal mistake.