**THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME CATCH A WOODEN DONATION BOX AS HIS TWELVE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER'S FIANCÉE SHOVED IT OFF THE ENGAGEMENT TABLE—THEN SHE SAID, “SHE WAS BEGGING FOR MONEY,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE LITTLE GIRL WAS CRYING AND WHISPERING, “THAT WAS EIGHT MONTHS OF WORK FOR CHILDREN WHO DON'T HAVE BOOKS.”**

I stared at the photograph in Mia’s trembling hand.

My breath caught in my throat.

The image was grainy, probably taken by a traffic camera or a private investigator, but the details were undeniable. The twisted metal of Elena Moretti's sedan. The dark, rainy road.

And standing a few feet away, Marco and Vanessa.

Vanessa was wrapped in a distinctive beige cashmere coat. The same coat the dry-cleaning receipt had been for.

"Mia, where did you find this?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"It was folded inside the cufflink," she sniffled, wiping her nose. "I think whoever dropped it wanted Daddy to find it."

I looked down the long, empty hallway.

If Marco knew Mia had this photo, neither of us would be safe.

"Put it away," I urged, pushing her small hand closed. "Hide it in your pocket. We have to wait for your father."

We hurried into Mia’s bedroom. I locked the heavy wooden door behind us and closed the curtains.

Mia sat on the edge of her bed, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Miss Rachel," she said softly. "Why was Vanessa wearing Mommy's coat when Mommy died?"

"I don't know, baby."

"Do you think Marco hurt my mom?"

The question broke my heart. I sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her small shoulders.

"Your dad is going to figure this out," I promised. "He won't let anyone hurt you. Or the memory of your mother."

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled.

Mia flinched.

"Rachel."

It was Marco’s voice. Deep and muffled through the thick wood.

My stomach plummeted.

"Yes?" I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.

"The boss wants you downstairs. He asked me to stay with Mia."

I looked at the twelve-year-old girl beside me. Her eyes were wide with sheer terror.

"Mr. Moretti told me to stay with her until he came up himself," I answered loudly.

There was a heavy pause.

"He changed his mind," Marco said. The doorknob twisted again, harder this time. "Open the door, Rachel."

I stood up, stepping between Mia and the door.

"I need to hear that from Mr. Moretti," I said, my hands shaking.

Silence fell over the hallway.

Then, I heard the distinctive sound of a metal key sliding into the lock.

Marco had the master keys.

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

Marco stood in the doorway, his massive frame filling the space. His eyes scanned the room, landing on me, and then on Mia.

He wasn't looking at our faces. He was looking at Mia’s hands.

"You found something in the library, didn't you, kid?" Marco said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Mia pressed herself against the headboard. "No."

Marco sighed. "Your father is busy dealing with Vanessa. He sent me up here because he doesn't want you getting involved in adult business. Hand it over, Mia."

"Leave her alone," I said, forcing myself to stand taller.

Marco looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time.

His eyes dropped to my wrist.

I was wearing a cheap, scuffed leather watch. It belonged to my father. He gave it to me before he passed away ten years ago.

Marco’s expression changed.

"Where did you get that watch?" he asked, his voice suddenly tight.

I swallowed. "It was my father's."

"What was your father's name?"

"David Morgan."

Marco went completely still. The menacing posture melted away, replaced by genuine shock.

"Davey Morgan," Marco whispered. "You're Davey's kid?"

"You knew my dad?"

Marco closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. When he opened them, the hostility was gone.

"Your dad was the Moretti family accountant, Rachel. He didn't just pass away. He was murdered."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"What?" I breathed out. "No. He died in a robbery."

"That's what the police report said," Marco replied grimly. "Because he was carrying documents that proved someone was stealing millions from Luca's offshore accounts."

Marco walked past me and sat in the chair by the window.

"I didn't hurt Elena, Mia," Marco said softly, looking at the terrified girl. "And I didn't come to take the photo from you. I came to make sure Vanessa didn't get to you first."

Mia uncurled slightly. "But you're in the picture. With Vanessa."

Marco nodded. "Yes. Because ten minutes before Elena crashed, she called me in a panic. She said she had finally found the proof of who was stealing from the family. And she said Vanessa was chasing her."

Marco looked at me.

"The proof Elena had? It was your father's ledger, Rachel. The one missing since the day he died."

Before I could process the shock, the bedroom door flew open.