**THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME PULL A DINING CHAIR OUT FOR HIS SIXTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD FORMER RESTAURANT MANAGER DURING HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE'S HERE TO ASK FOR MONEY, NOT A SEAT,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE MAN WHO HAD STOOD BESIDE HIS FAMILY FOR TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS WAS HOLDING THE ORIGINAL BRASS BELL FROM THEIR FIRST RESTAURANT.**

The wind off Lake Michigan whipped my hair across my face as I stared at the train ticket.

"New York?" I asked, reading the destination.

Luca nodded, his expression grim. "Grand Central Station. Lockbox 402."

He pointed to a string of numbers scribbled on the back of the ticket.

"Vincent was terrified of the syndicate. If he had half a ledger, he was keeping it as leverage to save his own life. But he couldn't get to it without this ticket."

"And the other half?" I asked.

"My father destroyed it years ago," Luca said. "But if the syndicate finds out the remaining half still exists, they won't stop until they have it. And they'll kill anyone who knows about it."

I looked at Luca. He had just bought a new restaurant. He had just freed my mother. He had a chance to walk away from the violence.

"Are you going to New York?" I asked.

"I have to," Luca said. "To destroy it."

He paused, looking at me carefully.

"I need you to come with me."

I blinked in surprise. "Me? Luca, I'm a manager now. I'm not a mafia enforcer."

"I know," he said softly. "But Vincent didn't rent that lockbox under his own name."

Luca pulled out a copy of the rental agreement he had forced out of Vincent's accountant.

He handed it to me.

I looked at the signature at the bottom of the page.

The air rushed out of my lungs.

It was my mother's handwriting.

"Vincent forced her to sign it twenty years ago when she borrowed the money," Luca explained. "The lockbox is in her name. The bank won't let me open it. I need her next of kin. I need you."

I looked back toward the hospital doors. My mother was finally safe. I wasn't going to let the ghost of Vincent Bellini drag her back into danger.

"When does the train leave?" I asked.

"Tonight," Luca said.

Ten hours later, Luca and I sat in a private sleeper car on the overnight train to Manhattan.

The rhythmic clacking of the tracks was the only sound in the dimly lit cabin.

I sat by the window, watching the dark countryside blur past.

Luca sat across from me, reviewing a thick file on the New York syndicate factions.

"You don't have to be afraid," Luca said without looking up.

"I'm not," I replied truthfully.

And I wasn't. The terrified maid who had served Vanessa's champagne was gone.

Luca closed the file and looked at me.

"My father trusted your mother more than his own lieutenants," Luca said quietly. "He knew Vincent was dangerous. He knew Vincent had the ledger. That's why he traded the liquor license to keep your mother safe. Because she was the only key to the lockbox."

"Why didn't my mother just tell him?" I asked.

"Because Vincent threatened to kill you if she did," Luca said.

I leaned my head against the cool glass. The sacrifices our parents had made for us were suffocating.

The train lurched suddenly.

Not a normal bump on the tracks. A violent, metal-screeching halt that threw me forward out of my seat.

Luca caught my arm, pulling me back as the train ground to a complete stop in the middle of nowhere.

The cabin lights flickered and died.

Total darkness.

"Stay quiet," Luca whispered, immediately drawing a compact pistol from his shoulder holster.

We waited in the dark.

Outside the window, flashlights cut through the woods.

Heavy boots slammed onto the metal boarding ramp of our train car.