THE MOMENT THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A WORTHLESS LITTLE MAID,” I PLACED A HAND-SEWN BLACK TIE BESIDE HIS CHAMPAGNE GLASS DURING HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BECAUSE THE GRANDFATHER WHO RAISED HIM HAD BEEN TOLD HIS OLD SUIT WAS TOO EMBARRASSING TO BE SEEN AT THE TABLE.

The image of Marcus slumping dead in the chair burned into my retinas.

Dominic didn’t speak as we ran back to the delivery van. His silence was far more terrifying than any rage. He was a man who had just watched his most trusted friend betray him and his loyal security chief die.

We climbed into the van. Frank was huddled in the back, wrapped in a moving blanket, shaking.

“Dominic?” Frank asked, seeing the lethal darkness in his grandson’s eyes. “What happened?”

“Leo is a traitor,” Dominic said flatly, pulling the van out of the hospital bay. “He’s holding Rachel’s mother hostage at the mansion with Victoria. They burned the photograph.”

Frank gasped, burying his face in his hands. “Then it’s over. Without that photo, the Commission will never believe the Bellinis murdered your parents. Victoria will take over everything.”

I gripped the dashboard, my mind racing. My mother was going to die because of me.

“Dominic,” I whispered, “what do we do?”

Dominic didn’t answer immediately. He drove toward the downtown train station, weaving through the late-night traffic.

“Victoria thinks she won because she burned the photo,” Dominic finally said, his voice cold and analytical. “But Leo is a coward. He never commits to a betrayal unless he has an insurance policy.”

He pulled the van into the underground parking garage of the Central Train Station.

“Insurance policy?” I asked.

“Leo knows Victoria will eventually kill him to tie up loose ends,” Dominic explained, killing the engine. “He wouldn’t help her unless he stole something valuable from me to buy his way out of the city if things went south.”

Dominic turned to Frank. “Grandpa, when Leo visited the mansion last week, did he go near my study?”

Frank frowned, thinking hard. “Yes. I saw him coming out of your private library. He told me he was looking for a cigar.”

Dominic’s jaw locked. “He wasn’t looking for a cigar. He was looking for the deed to the Brooklyn Ports. It’s worth fifty million dollars, and it’s completely untraceable. If Leo stole it, he would stash it somewhere public before he made his move.”

“Like a train station locker,” I realized.

“Exactly,” Dominic said, pulling his gun. “If we find that deed, we have leverage. Victoria needs it to finalize the merger with her family’s assets. Without it, her father will cut her off.”

We left Frank locked in the van again, hiding him under a pile of moving blankets for safety.

The train station was nearly empty at 2:00 AM. Only a few janitors and sleeping travelers occupied the massive, echoing concourse.

We hurried toward the banks of metal rental lockers near the south terminal.

“Which one?” I asked, staring at hundreds of identical blue doors.

“Leo is superstitious,” Dominic said, scanning the numbers. “He always plays the number 714 in roulette. It was his mother’s birthday.”

We ran to locker 714. It was locked with a heavy electronic keypad.

Dominic didn’t bother trying to guess the passcode. He raised his handgun, placed the suppressor against the locking mechanism, and fired once.

The lock shattered.

Dominic pulled the metal door open.

Inside sat a pristine, expensive leather briefcase.

“Got it,” Dominic said, pulling it out and setting it on the nearest bench. He popped the latches and threw it open.

But it wasn’t filled with property deeds or cash.

The briefcase was packed with bundles of old, yellowed letters.

Dominic frowned, picking one up. “What the hell is this?”

I leaned over, reading the elegant handwriting on the top envelope.

It was addressed to Victoria’s father, Don Bellini.

And the return address... was Dominic’s father.

“Dominic,” I whispered, my heart skipping a beat. “These are letters between your dad and the Bellinis.”

Dominic ripped the envelope open. He pulled out the fragile paper and read it quickly. As his eyes darted across the words, the color drained completely from his face.

“This can’t be real,” Dominic choked out, stumbling backward.

“What is it?” I asked, terrified by his reaction.

Dominic dropped the letter onto the bench like it was poisoned.

“My father didn’t hate the Bellinis,” Dominic whispered, his voice cracking. “He was working with them. He was selling out our syndicate to Victoria’s father.”

My mind spun. “What?”

“Read it!” Dominic yelled, pointing at the briefcase. “My father was bankrupting our family to feed the Bellinis. He was a traitor. He was planning to hand over the entire New York territory to them the week he died!”

I picked up another letter. It was true. The documents outlined a massive betrayal, signed in Dominic’s father’s own blood.

“But if your father was helping them,” I said, trying to piece the puzzle together, “why did the Bellinis force his car off the road? Why did they kill him?”

Dominic stared at me, a horrifying realization dawning in his eyes.

“They didn’t,” Dominic whispered.

The silence in the train station was deafening.

“If the Bellinis didn’t kill my parents…” Dominic’s voice trembled as he looked toward the parking garage where we had left his grandfather. “Then who forced their car off the road?”

Suddenly, the heavy silver watch in my apron pocket felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Authorization of Termination. Signed: Frank Moretti.

I knew the truth. I knew Frank had signed the order because the Bellinis had threatened his wife.

But I hadn’t told Dominic.

“Rachel,” Dominic said, noticing the sheer panic on my face. “What do you know?”

Before I could answer, a loud, agonizing scream echoed from the parking garage below.

It was Frank.

Dominic abandoned the briefcase and sprinted toward the garage stairwell, taking the steps three at a time. I ran right behind him, my heart in my throat.

We burst through the heavy fire doors into the parking level.

The delivery van’s side door was ripped open. The moving blankets were thrown onto the oil-stained concrete.

And standing in the center of the garage, holding a massive hunting knife to Frank’s throat, was Leo Rossi.

“Drop the gun, Boss!” Leo screamed, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

Dominic froze, his gun aimed squarely at Leo’s head. “Let him go, Leo.”

“I can’t!” Leo cried out, his hand shaking. “Victoria said if I don’t bring her the old man, she’s going to kill my kids! I have to do this!”

“Leo, you’re a dead man either way,” Dominic said, stepping slowly forward, his voice a lethal calm. “Drop the knife, and I promise your kids will be safe.”

Frank was sobbing quietly, his hands raised in surrender.

But as Frank shifted his weight, his cheap brown suit snagged on the jagged edge of the van’s broken door.

With a loud RIP, the inner lining of Frank’s jacket tore wide open.

And something slipped out of the lining, fluttering to the concrete floor.

It was a piece of heavy parchment, sealed with red wax.

Leo looked down at it. Dominic looked at it.

“What is that?” Leo demanded.

Frank squeezed his eyes shut, weeping in absolute despair. “It’s the deed to the Brooklyn Ports. I sewed it into my suit to keep it safe.”

Dominic stared at his grandfather, betrayal shattering his expression.

“You had the deed this whole time?” Dominic whispered. “You knew Victoria wanted it, and you didn’t tell me?”

Leo laughed, a manic, hysterical sound. “He didn’t tell you, Boss, because he’s playing you! He’s playing everyone!”

Leo pressed the knife harder against Frank’s throat.