THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS FIANCÉE FORCE ME TO PICK UP HER SCATTERED PEARLS WITH AN INJURED HAND—THEN SHE SAID, “SHE HURT IT IN MY BEDROOM,” BEFORE HE HAD ASKED WHAT HAPPENED. The first pearl rolled beneath Luca Moretti's chair.

Because the man in the photograph told her he was coming to your wedding.

The words hung in the silence of Luca Moretti’s study.

The heavy mahogany clock on the wall ticked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Luca did not move. He did not blink. His dark eyes remained fixed on my face, searching for any sign of a lie. But there was only fear. My injured hand throbbed against my apron, a sharp reminder of exactly what Vanessa was capable of when backed into a corner.

"Coming to the wedding," Luca repeated. His voice was a low, dangerous murmur. It wasn't a question. It was the sound of a man processing a threat to his empire.

"Yes, sir," I whispered. My throat was so dry it hurt to speak. "I heard them arguing. Right before I dropped the linens. He told her that three months was long enough to play house. He said he would be sitting in the front row when she walked down the aisle."

Luca slowly leaned back in his leather chair. The blue light from the security monitors cast harsh, sharp shadows across his jawline. He looked at the photograph again. The image of his beautiful fiancée, wearing a white dress, holding another man's hand on the steps of a Boston courthouse.

"Did he say what he wanted, Emily?"

"No," I swallowed hard. "But he wasn't asking for money. He spoke to her like... like he owned her. And she was terrified of him. That's why she slammed the drawer on my hand. She realized I had heard the end of the conversation."

Before Luca could respond, the heavy oak door of the study clicked open.

I jumped, instinctively stepping backward.

But it wasn't Vanessa. And it wasn't Daniel, the head of security.

It was a little boy.

He was six years old, wearing oversized Batman pajamas, rubbing his sleepy brown eyes. This was Leo. Luca’s nephew. The son of his late older brother, who had died in a tragic car accident three years ago. Leo lived in the mansion, shielded from the dark reality of the Moretti family business. I spent most of my mornings making him dinosaur-shaped pancakes before his tutor arrived.

"Leo," Luca’s voice instantly softened. The terrifying mafia boss vanished, replaced by a fiercely protective uncle. "What are you doing out of bed, buddy? It's past eleven."

Leo shuffled into the room, his bare feet padding softly against the Persian rug. He didn't look at his uncle. He walked directly toward me.

"Emily," Leo mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "You weren't in your room to read me a story."

My heart broke. Despite the pain in my hand, I knelt down to his eye level. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I had to work late tonight. Is Mrs. Gable not upstairs with you?"

"She fell asleep," Leo said. Then, he reached into the small pocket of his pajama top. "I brought you something. I found it in the garden today. Before dinner."

He pulled his small hand out and held it toward me.

Sitting in the center of his palm was a heavy, antique silver pocket watch.

The air in the room suddenly turned freezing cold.

Luca stood up from his desk so fast his chair hit the bookshelves behind him. He crossed the room in three long strides, his eyes locked entirely on the silver object in his nephew's hand.

"Leo," Luca said. The forced calm in his voice was terrifying. "Where did you get that?"

Leo looked up, slightly startled by his uncle's intensity. "I found it. In the rose garden. A man dropped it."

"A man?" I breathed, feeling the blood drain from my face.

"Yeah," Leo nodded innocently. "He was standing by the tall bushes. He asked me if I lived here. I said yes. Then he asked if Uncle Luca was home."

Panic seized my chest. "Leo, did this man come inside the gates? Did he touch you?"

"No. He just smiled. He had a funny scar right here." Leo dragged his small index finger through his left eyebrow. "Then Daniel yelled at him from the driveway, and the man walked away. He dropped the watch."

Luca took the silver watch from Leo’s hand. His large fingers traced the intricate, engraved crest on the front of the silver casing. A wolf wrapping around a sword. It was the Moretti family crest.

"Mr. Moretti?" I asked softly, watching his knuckles turn white. "Do you know whose watch that is?"

"It was my father's," Luca said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "It was stolen from his body the night he was murdered twelve years ago."

The reversal hit me like a physical blow.

The man in the photograph wasn't just Vanessa's secret husband. He wasn't just a blackmailer. He was connected to the darkest, bloodiest chapter of the Moretti family’s history. And Vanessa had brought him directly to our front door.

The intercom on Luca’s desk buzzed loudly, shattering the tense silence.

Luca pressed the button. "Speak."

"Sir, it's Daniel," the head of security's voice crackled through the speaker. "I have the footage from the front gate this afternoon. You need to see this immediately."

"Send it to my monitor," Luca commanded.

He gently touched Leo’s hair. "Emily, take Leo to my private quarters. Lock the door. Do not let anyone in. Not even Vanessa."

"Yes, sir." I stood up, taking Leo’s small hand in my good one.

As I turned toward the hidden doorway behind the bookshelves, I glanced back at Luca’s computer screen.

The footage from the front gate began to play.

A tall man in a dark overcoat was standing near the wrought-iron bars. He turned his head toward the camera, the streetlights illuminating a deep, jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow. It was the exact same man from the photograph.