THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME STRUGGLE TO ROLL A MASSIVE WEDDING PORTRAIT INTO HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE HURT HER SHOULDER IN THE CARRIAGE HOUSE,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I COULDN’T LIFT MY ARM.

The penthouse was a fortress of glass and steel overlooking Lake Michigan, accessible only by a private elevator that required Luca’s biometric scan.

Toby fell asleep almost instantly in the massive guest bedroom, exhausted by the trauma.

I sat on the velvet sofa in the living room, my arm still in a sling, watching the sunrise bleed over the water.

Luca walked in carrying two mugs of black coffee. He handed me one. His tuxedo shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his hair messy. He looked exhausted, yet incredibly dangerous.

"Daniel is tracking Vanessa's movements," Luca said, sitting across from me. "She returned to the mansion at 2:00 AM, acting like she'd just been out for a late drive. She thinks she won."

"She has the rosary," I said quietly. "She has the proof. She’ll just destroy it."

"She can destroy the rosary, but she can't destroy the ledger," Luca replied.

"What ledger?"

"The one my adoptive father hid. The one that details every payoff the Bellini family made to cover up the hit." Luca leaned forward. "Vanessa tore your apartment apart looking for the rosary, but she also sold my parents' portrait. She was desperate to get that painting out of the carriage house."

"You think the ledger is in the carriage house?"

"I know it is. When you stumbled into that heavy cabinet yesterday, what did it feel like?"

I frowned, trying to remember the excruciating moment. "It was solid wood. But it sounded hollow at the bottom. Like it was empty underneath."

"My grandfather's old apothecary cabinet," Luca murmured. "Let's go."

I left Toby in the care of two heavily armed guards Luca trusted implicitly.

We drove back to the estate. The morning air was crisp and freezing. The mansion was completely silent; the guests had left hours ago, and Vanessa was asleep in the master suite.

We bypassed the main house and went straight to the carriage house.

The padlock Daniel had broken the night before was still hanging loose.

We slipped inside. The smell of old dust and motor oil filled the air.

Luca walked straight to the massive wooden cabinet near the door. With a grunt of effort, he tilted the heavy oak structure backward.

I knelt down, using my good hand to feel the bottom panel.

"There's a latch," I whispered.

I flicked it. A false bottom dropped open.

Inside wasn't a ledger.

It was a heavy, moth-eaten woman’s wool coat.

Luca pulled it out gently. "This was my biological mother's coat. She was wearing it the night she died."

He ran his hands through the deep pockets.

His fingers snagged on something. He pulled it out.

It was a faded, blood-stained ferry ticket.

Chicago to Ontario. Date: November 12, 1995.

The exact date of the murders.

"They were trying to escape," Luca whispered, his voice cracking with a grief he had buried for three decades.

He reached into the other pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. The ledger.

"We have it," Luca said, looking at me. His eyes were burning with a fierce, protective fire. "We can finally end this."

Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors of the carriage house slammed shut.

The metal latch dropped from the outside with a sickening clack.

"Did you really think you were the only one who knew about the false bottom, Luca?"

Vanessa’s voice echoed through the high windows of the carriage house.

Luca rushed to the doors, throwing his weight against the solid oak. It didn't budge.

"Vanessa, open the door!" Luca roared.

"I can't do that, darling," she cooed from the courtyard. "You see, I needed you to find the ledger for me. I didn't know which piece of furniture it was hidden in. Now that it's out in the open... it will burn beautifully."

A splash of liquid hit the bottom of the wooden doors.

Gasoline.

The sharp, chemical smell flooded the enclosed space.

"You're insane!" I screamed, coughing as the fumes hit my lungs. "You'll never get away with this!"

"Oh, Claire," Vanessa laughed coldly. "A tragic accident. A spark from the old wiring. The grieving fiancée inherits the Moretti empire. It writes itself."