**THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME RETURN A WORN GOLD MUSIC BOX TO A SIXTY-FOUR-YEAR-OLD WOMAN DURING HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE'S JUST A FORMER EMPLOYEE WHO CAN'T ACCEPT THAT HER TIME IS OVER,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE WOMAN WAS CRYING, WHY THE MUSIC BOX PLAYED HIS LATE MOTHER'S FAVORITE WALTZ, AND WHY SHE HAD REFUSED TO SELL IT FOR TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS.**

The flashing red and blue lights of the police cruisers painted the dining room walls in jagged, frantic strokes.

"The police?" Margaret gasped, her hand flying to her pearl necklace. "Luca, they can't take her. She hasn't done anything!"

"They aren't taking anyone," Luca said, his voice a low rumble of absolute authority. He turned to Marco. "Lock down the front gates. Nobody enters the mansion without a warrant signed by a judge I know."

"Boss, they're already at the front door," Marco said, wiping a trickle of blood from his brow. "Vanessa let them in before she drove off. They’re demanding to search the staff."

Panic seized my chest. I couldn't breathe. If I was arrested, even on false charges, I would lose my clearance to work in any respectable home. My mother’s medical bills would pile up, and the Bellinis would make sure she was thrown onto the street.

"Mr. Moretti, I didn't take anything," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "I swear. I haven't even been down to the vault."

"I know," Luca said, his dark eyes fixed on me. "Vanessa is trying to force my hand. She wants to see if I’ll let you go to prison to avoid a scandal."

He stepped closer to me. "Turn out your pockets."

I blinked. "What?"

"Your uniform apron," Luca ordered gently. "Empty the pockets. Now."

With trembling hands, I reached into the deep pockets of my white maid’s apron. I expected to find my small notepad, a pen, and the rag I used for dusting.

Instead, my fingers brushed against something hard. Something heavy and terrifyingly cold.

I pulled my hand out.

Sitting in the center of my palm was a velvet pouch.

Margaret let out a sharp cry.

I slowly loosened the gold drawstring. The velvet fell open, revealing a breathtaking, massive diamond necklace. It caught the chandelier’s light, throwing sharp, brilliant rainbows across the room. It was Catherine Moretti’s most famous piece of jewelry—the heirloom she had worn in her final portrait.

"Oh my god," I whispered, dropping the pouch onto the dining table as if it burned my skin. "I didn't... I swear, I don't know how that got in there."

"Vanessa," Margaret said, her voice shaking with disgust. "When she stormed out of here, she brushed right past you. I saw her bump your shoulder."

Luca stared at the diamonds. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked near his ear.

"She planted them on you," Luca said coldly. "So when the police search you, they find a million dollars worth of stolen property."

Heavy footsteps echoed in the grand hallway. The police were already inside the house.

"Mr. Moretti, please!" I panicked, tears blurring my vision. "If they find this on me, they'll lock me away. My mother—"

Luca didn't hesitate. He snatched the velvet pouch off the table and shoved it into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket.

"Mr. Moretti, what are you doing?" I gasped. "If they find it on you—"

"They cannot search me without a warrant," Luca stated, his voice calm and unyielding. "They can search the staff on suspicion. They cannot touch the owner of the house."

Before I could say another word, three uniformed Chicago police officers strode into the dining room, led by a detective in a cheap trench coat.

"Luca Moretti," the detective said, flashing a badge. "We received an anonymous 911 call from a female stating that the Moretti family diamonds were stolen tonight during your dinner party."

"There has been a misunderstanding, Detective," Luca said smoothly, his posture relaxed, embodying the untouchable billionaire. "Nothing has been stolen from this house."

The detective narrowed his eyes. He looked at me, trembling in my maid's uniform, and then at the shattered champagne glass on the floor.

"The caller was very specific," the detective pressed. "She said the thief was a maid named Megan Collins. She said the necklace was hidden on her person."

The detective pointed a finger directly at me. "Miss, step away from the table and put your hands where I can see them."

"She will do no such thing," Luca stepped directly in front of me, shielding my body with his own. "You are in my home, Detective. You have no warrant. You have no proof of a crime. And you will not harass my staff."

"If she has nothing to hide, Mr. Moretti, let me search her pockets," the detective challenged, stepping closer. "Unless you're hiding a thief."

The tension in the room was suffocating. If Luca refused, it would look suspicious. If they somehow forced a search and found nothing, they might keep digging.

Suddenly, Margaret walked forward.

"Officer," the sixty-four-year-old woman said clearly. "There is no stolen necklace."

The detective looked down at her. "And who are you, ma'am?"

"I am Margaret Ellis. I managed the Moretti household for nearly thirty years," she said proudly. "And I can assure you the necklace is not stolen. Because I have it."

Luca turned his head sharply. "Margaret, what are you doing?"

Margaret reached into her own leather handbag. She pulled out a small, ornate wooden box. She clicked it open and presented it to the detective.

Inside rested an identical diamond necklace.

I stared in shock.

The detective frowned, looking at the diamonds in the wooden box. "This is the heirloom?"

"It is," Margaret lied smoothly. "Mr. Moretti asked me to bring it from the bank vault for his fiancée to wear tonight. But Vanessa decided it didn't match her gown. The anonymous caller must have been a disgruntled guest who misunderstood the situation."

The detective stared at Margaret, then at Luca. Without a victim claiming a theft, and with the supposed "stolen" item right in front of him, he had no case.

"Fine," the detective grumbled, clearly disappointed he couldn't take a Moretti down tonight. "Sorry for the intrusion."

He signaled his officers, and they marched out of the mansion.

The moment the heavy front doors clicked shut, Luca turned to Margaret.

"Where the hell did you get a replica of my mother's necklace?" Luca demanded.

Margaret closed the wooden box. Her hands were shaking again.

"It isn't a replica, Luca," Margaret whispered. "This is the real necklace."

Luca froze. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the velvet pouch Vanessa had planted on me. He dumped the diamonds onto the table.

Margaret looked at them and shook her head sadly. "Those are fakes. High-quality cubic zirconia."

"Vanessa planted fakes on me?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Why?"

"To get you arrested," Luca said, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the fake jewels. "And to cover up the fact that she already stole the real ones."

Luca looked at Margaret. "When did you get the real necklace from the vault?"

Margaret took a deep breath. "I didn't get it from the vault, Luca. I got it from Vanessa's bedroom two hours ago."

Luca’s expression darkened. "Why was my mother's necklace in Vanessa's room?"

Margaret looked down at the music box still sitting on the table.

"Because Vanessa wasn't just planning to steal the diamonds tonight, Luca," Margaret said, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "She was planning to run. She needed the money to pay off the people who really killed your mother."

I gasped.

Luca went perfectly still.

"What did you just say?" Luca whispered, the temperature in the room dropping to freezing.

Margaret gently touched the gold music box. "Catherine didn't die of a weak heart, Luca. And the proof has been inside this box for ten years."

She pressed a hidden latch on the bottom of the music box. The base popped open with a quiet click.