THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME DRAG HIS AUNT’S OLD BLUE SUITCASE ACROSS HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH BLOOD RUNNING DOWN MY KNEE—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL ON THE GUEST-COTTAGE STEPS,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I WAS HURT. Five more feet.

Rose stared at him.

Then slowly reached beneath the cushion beside her.

She removed an old photograph.

“I think because of this.”

Luca took it.

The picture had been taken at the cottage twelve years earlier.

His mother stood beside Rose near the maple tree.

Both women were laughing.

Behind them, partly hidden near the garden gate, stood a much younger woman.

Dark hair.

Red coat.

Luca stared at her face.

His stomach tightened.

Vanessa.

He looked up.

“No.”

Rose nodded slowly.

“I've been trying to remember where I'd seen her ever since you introduced us.”

Luca looked at the photograph again.

He had met Vanessa six years ago.

This picture was twelve years old.

“Why was she here?”

Rose’s voice dropped.

“That’s what your mother refused to tell me.”

Luca stared at her.

“Mom knew her?”

Rose nodded.

“And the last time Isabella came to this cottage, she made me promise something.”

“What?”

Rose looked toward the boxes Vanessa had searched.

Her hands began to tremble.

“She said if that woman ever came back into your life…”

A long pause.

“…I was never to let her know what Isabella had left with me.”

Luca slowly stood.

“What did my mother leave?”

Rose looked toward the fireplace.

Then at him.

And whispered:

“A key.”

The word hung in the cold, quiet air of the cottage.

Luca’s mind raced.

Twelve years.

Vanessa had been circling his family for over a decade, long before they supposedly “met” at a charity gala.

“Where is it?” Luca asked.

Rose closed her eyes.

“I hid it. Just like she asked. But when Vanessa was in here today…”

She took a shaky breath.

“She brought a man with her. Not a driver. A man in a gray suit. They tore the place apart.”

“Did they find it?”

“No.”

Rose pointed a trembling finger toward the old cedar chest.

“Because it wasn’t in the house. It was in the lining of my blue suitcase.”

Luca froze.

The suitcase Rachel had been dragging through the dining room.

The suitcase Vanessa had been so desperate to get to the car.

Before Luca could speak, the cottage door opened.

I stood in the doorway.

My apron was stained with dried blood.

My breathing was shallow.

And in my hands, I held a heavy, tarnished brass key.

Luca turned.

“Rachel.”

I limped into the room and locked the door behind me.

“Mrs. Carter bandaged my knee,” I said, my voice shaking. “She told me to take your aunt’s bags to the main security office until you decided what to do.”

I held out the key.

“When the handle on the suitcase finally snapped, the lining tore open. This fell out.”

Luca stepped forward and took the key.

It was old.

Heavy.

It had a strange insignia engraved on the bow: a small, intertwined rose and vine.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” I whispered. “But when Miss Bellini saw me pick it up in the hallway, her face… Mr. Moretti, she looked like she wanted to kill me.”

Luca stared at the brass key.

He knew that insignia.

It wasn’t just a random antique.

“This is the key to my father’s old private vault at the Mercantile Bank,” Luca said, his voice dropping an octave. “The one he closed ten years ago.”

“If it’s closed, why does she want it?” Rose asked.

“Because,” Luca said, turning the key in the dim light, “the vault isn’t closed. My mother must have kept it active under her own name.”

Suddenly, the floorboards on the porch creaked.

Heavy footsteps.

I backed away from the window.

Luca moved in front of his aunt.

The doorknob rattled violently.

Then, a voice called out from the dark.

“Mr. Moretti.”

It was the driver who had been waiting by the town car.

Only he didn't sound like a driver anymore.

“Miss Bellini sent me to check on you,” the man said through the wood. “She said to bring the maid outside. Immediately.”