THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME SERVE HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITHOUT SAYING A WORD—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE LOST HER VOICE IN THE MUSIC ROOM,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I COULDN’T SPEAK.

I stared at the sparkling diamond on the floor.

My mind went blank.

“I didn’t take that,” I rasped, panic tightening my already injured throat. “I swear, Mr. Moretti. I don’t know how it got in my pocket.”

Luca didn’t yell. He didn’t accuse me.

He simply picked up the ring and looked at the doorway.

“She bumped into you in the hallway before dinner,” he said quietly. “When she told you to fetch the coffee.”

He understood immediately. Vanessa was framing me.

If she accused the maid of stealing a quarter-of-a-million-dollar ring, I would be arrested. My credibility would be destroyed. Nobody would believe a word I said about the piano or the photograph.

“We need to call the police,” I whispered.

“No.” Luca slipped the ring into his own pocket. “If we call the police, she’ll know we found the compartment. She’ll destroy whatever she took from it.”

He looked at me. “Emily, I need you to go to the coatroom. Get your coat and leave through the kitchen. Go straight home. You aren’t safe here tonight.”

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

I hurried down the servant’s corridor to the coatroom. I just wanted to get back to my small apartment, lock the door, and hold my six-year-old son, Leo.

I found my worn wool coat on the rack.

But as I pulled it on, I felt a heavy, rectangular shape inside the lining.

I froze.

I reached into the pocket and pulled it out.

It was a small, leather-bound ledger. The pages were yellowed with age.

This is what was in the piano.

Vanessa hadn’t stolen it. She hadn’t found the compartment in time. Mr. Avery the piano tuner must have panicked when they argued, found the ledger, and slipped it into the nearest coat on the rack to hide it from her.

My coat.

I opened the first page.

It was handwritten by Luca’s mother.

But it wasn’t a diary of finances.

It was a list of names and dates. And right at the top, circled in red ink, was the name of my own mother: Sarah Reed.

Before I could process what I was looking at, the coatroom door clicked shut behind me.

The lock turned.