THE MOMENT THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A GREEDY LITTLE MAID,” I SLAMMED HIS MOTHER’S JEWELRY BOX SHUT BEFORE HE COULD GIVE HER THE NECKLACE—AND THIRTY GUESTS WATCHED HIM TURN TOWARD ME. I had never seen Dominic DeLuca look at anyone the way he looked at me that night. His hand was still resting on the little velvet box.

I sprinted down the grand staircase, my shoes slipping on the polished marble. I didn't care. I tore through the kitchen, bursting through the heavy service doors into the courtyard.

The rain hit me like icy needles. The staff quarters were located above the detached garages, a hundred yards from the main house.

Dominic and Marco were right behind me, their heavy footsteps splashing in the puddles.

I reached the bottom of the wooden stairs leading up to Leo’s room.

Two of Dominic’s guards were slumped on the landing. They weren't asleep. They were unconscious, bleeding from heavy blows to the back of their heads.

“Leo!” I screamed, throwing the door open.

The small bedroom was empty.

His bed was unmade. His favorite red baseball cap was gone.

“No. No, no, no,” I sobbed, tearing through the tiny bathroom, throwing open the closet doors.

He wasn't there.

Dominic caught me as my knees buckled. He pulled me up, his grip bruising but grounding.

“Breathe, Hannah. We will find him.” Dominic looked at Marco. “Lock down the perimeter. No cars leave. Bring the dogs.”

As Marco ran back into the rain, I saw something sitting on Leo’s pillow.

It was a piece of thick, vintage paper.

I walked over and picked it up.

It was a train ticket. Dated for midnight tonight. Departing from Union Station to Montreal.

But it wasn't a new ticket. It was faded, dog-eared, and punched.

“What is that?” Dominic asked, stepping into the room.

I stared at the name printed on the front of the ticket.

Passenger: Julian DeLuca.

Date: October 14, 2012.

The date Julian supposedly drowned.

“He didn't just run away,” I whispered, showing the ticket to Dominic. “He bought a ticket the day he died. He planned it. But why leave it here? Why leave it on my son’s bed?”

Dominic took the ticket. He rubbed the thick paper between his fingers. He flipped it over.

On the back, written in fresh black ink, was a message.

Bring the emerald necklace to the boathouse. Come alone. Or the boy comes with me to Montreal.

“The necklace,” I realized, the pieces slamming together in my head. “The real one. The one Victoria hid. That’s what Julian wants. Not money. The necklace.”

Dominic’s eyes widened.

He pulled the green velvet pouch from his inside jacket pocket—the pouch I had seen Victoria hand to the stranger. Marco had recovered it from Victoria’s room.

Dominic opened the pouch and poured the real necklace into his palm. The heavy emerald caught the dim light of the bedroom. The gold clasp with the tiny bend was completely intact.

“It isn't just a flaw,” Dominic muttered, staring at the clasp. “My father never damaged this. He designed it.”

Dominic gripped the gold clasp with both hands. He pressed hard on the tiny bend.

With a soft click, the back of the emerald setting popped open.

Inside was a microscopic, tightly rolled piece of microfilm.

“The ledger,” I breathed. “It was in your mother’s necklace the entire time.”

“Julian knew,” Dominic said. “He read my father’s note in the watch. He knew the code was inside the emerald. That’s why he seduced Victoria. He needed her to swap the necklace so he could steal the ledger without me knowing.”

“But you caught her,” I said. “You stopped her from giving it to him. So now he’s using my son.”

I grabbed the necklace from Dominic’s hand.

“I’m taking it to him.”

Dominic grabbed my wrist. “Hannah, you can't. Julian is a ghost. If you give him that microfilm, he will kill you and take the boy anyway. He leaves no witnesses.”

“He is the father of my child!” I screamed, hitting Dominic’s chest. “I don't care about your family’s money! I don't care about the ledger! I want my son!”

Dominic didn't flinch. He looked at me with an intensity that made the breath catch in my throat.

“You think I care about the money?” Dominic asked softly. “I have spent twelve years mourning a brother who watched our father burn. I will not let him take a child.”

Dominic reached into his waistband and pulled out a heavy black pistol. He chambered a round with a sharp, terrifying click.

“You go to the boathouse,” Dominic said. “You give him the necklace. But you do not go alone. I will be in the shadows.”