THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS FIANCÉE TAKE A FORK OUT OF A 76-YEAR-OLD WOMAN'S SHAKING HAND AT HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN SHE SAID, “SHE ASKED TO EAT IN THE KITCHEN,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE OLD WOMAN WAS CRYING OVER A PLATE SHE HADN'T TOUCHED.

The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked.

Every second felt like a hammer striking the heavy silence of the room.

Vanessa clutched the silver purse to her chest, her breathing shallow and uneven.

"Luca, you are scaring me," she whispered, her voice trembling.

She was playing the victim.

It was a tactic I had seen her use a dozen times with the kitchen staff, but never with the boss of the Chicago syndicate.

Luca didn't soften.

"If you don't hand me that purse in the next three seconds, there won't be a wedding."

Vanessa let out a small, choked sob.

Her hands shook as she unclasped the silver latch.

She pulled out the crumpled piece of construction paper and held it out to him.

Luca took it.

He carefully smoothed out the wrinkles against the mahogany dining table.

I watched from the corner of the room, holding a stack of dirty dessert plates. My heart was racing so fast I thought I might drop them.

Luca stared at the crude crayon drawing.

The little boy in the black box. The tall woman in the red dress.

HELP ME UNCLE LUCA.

I saw the exact moment the realization hit him.

The color drained completely from Luca's face.

His jaw locked.

"Where did you get this?" he asked. His voice wasn't a yell. It was a deadly, terrifying whisper.

"It's just a silly drawing, Luca," Vanessa said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. "Leo made it weeks ago. Children have wild imaginations. You know how he acts out."

Leo.

Luca’s six-year-old nephew.

The orphaned son of Luca’s older brother, who had died in a car accident four years ago.

Luca had taken the boy in. He loved that child more than his own life.

But three months ago, Vanessa had convinced Luca that the mansion was no place for a grieving child, especially with Luca's "business" enemies. She had insisted Leo attend an exclusive, highly secure private boarding academy in upstate New York.

"He drew this weeks ago?" Luca repeated, his eyes never leaving the paper.

"Yes," Vanessa lied smoothly. "Before he left for school. I found it in his old playroom today and was going to throw it out."

Luca slowly raised his head.

"Leo didn't draw this weeks ago."

Vanessa swallowed. "Of course he did."

"No." Luca pointed to the tall woman in the drawing.

She was colored with a very specific, bright red crayon. Around her neck was a jagged yellow shape meant to be a gold necklace with a large pendant.

"You bought that necklace in Paris," Luca said quietly. "Last week."

Vanessa’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Luca stepped closer to her.

"You haven't seen Leo in three months. That's what you told me. You told me the school said he was adjusting well and didn't want visitors yet."

He held up the drawing.

"So how did my nephew draw you wearing a necklace you bought last week?"

I stood frozen near the kitchen doors.

Vanessa’s eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, an excuse, anything.

"He... they must have sent it in the mail!" she stammered. "The school sends updates."

Luca pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.

"Let's ask them."

"Luca, it's past midnight in New York!"

He didn't care. He dialed the number for the headmaster's emergency line.

He put it on speaker.

The phone rang three times before a groggy man answered.

"This is Headmaster Davies. Who is this?"

"This is Luca Moretti."

The man's tone instantly changed to terrified respect. "Mr. Moretti! Is everything alright? It's quite late."

"I need to speak to my nephew. Leo."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Sir?" the headmaster asked, confused.

"Put him on the phone, Davies."

"Mr. Moretti... Leo isn't here."

Luca went entirely still.

"What do you mean he isn't there?"

"Miss Bellini picked him up," the headmaster said nervously. "Three days ago."

The room spun.

I looked at Vanessa. She looked like she was going to be sick.

"She presented the authorization forms you signed," the headmaster continued. "She said you were relocating him to the private facility in Europe. For his... behavioral issues."

Luca hung up the phone.

He didn't say a word.

He just looked at Vanessa.

"Luca, please," Vanessa begged, tears streaming down her face. Real tears this time. "I was going to tell you! He was acting out. He needs specialized help. Professional help."

"Where is he?" Luca asked.

"He's safe! I swear to you, he is perfectly safe."

"Where. Is. He."

"He's in a transitional clinic downtown," she cried. "Just until the flight tomorrow. I was protecting you! You have so much stress with the syndicate, I wanted to handle this for you—"

"Get out," Luca whispered.

"Luca—"

"If you are still in this house in five minutes, I will have my men carry you out by your hair. Get out."

Vanessa sobbed, grabbing her purse and running toward the foyer.

Luca stood in the empty dining room, staring at the child’s drawing.

I didn't know what to do. I was just a maid. I should have gone to the kitchen.

But I couldn't move.

Because as Vanessa ran, her heavy wool coat slipped off the chair she had draped it over earlier.

It crumpled onto the floor.

"Natalie," Luca said softly, not looking away from the drawing. "Gather her coat. Throw it out the front door."

"Yes, sir."

I walked over to the expensive cashmere coat and scooped it up.