THE WOODEN ROSARY AND THE GHOST OF BOSTON

She didn't reach him.

Before Celeste could take two steps, Marco’s hand shot out and caught her by the throat of her silk dress. He didn't strike her. He just stopped her dead in her tracks, shoving her back against the table.

“Don't you ever move toward my family again,” Marco said.

Celeste was breathing heavily, her eyes darting toward the exits. “Marco, listen to me—”

“Natalie,” Marco said, not looking away from Celeste.

“Yes, sir?” I answered instantly.

“Take my father, my sister, and my nephew to the corner by the fireplace. Keep them behind you.”

I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the handles of Frank’s wheelchair and pulled him back. Elena took Leo’s hand and followed me.

Marco held up the tiny memory card. “What is on this, Elena?”

“The security footage from the hotel lobby in Boston,” Elena said from behind me. “Carlo got it from the manager before he was killed. It shows exactly who he was meeting that night.”

Celeste’s hands began to shake violently.

She reached for her designer clutch sitting on the table behind her.

“Stop her,” Frank suddenly said from his wheelchair. His voice was sharp. “Her bag.”

I looked down. Celeste had unclasped the purse. Her fingers were digging inside, not for a phone, but for something small and metallic.

I didn't think. I just moved.

I grabbed Celeste’s wrist.

She gasped, trying to yank her arm away. “Let go of me, you stupid maid!”

“Drop it,” Marco ordered.

Celeste froze.

Marco stepped closer and pried her fingers open.

A heavy, silver key dropped onto the white tablecloth with a dull thud. It wasn't a house key. It had a strange, square head with a red crest stamped into the metal.

“A safe deposit key,” Marco said, picking it up.

“It’s for my jewelry,” Celeste lied. Her voice was too high.

Frank wheeled himself forward. His eyes locked onto the key.

“No,” Frank said. He pointed his shaking finger at the red crest. “That’s... Moretti.”

The name landed like a bomb in the ballroom.

The Moretti family was Marco’s oldest and deadliest rival. They had been trying to dismantle the DeLuca empire for decades.

Marco looked from the key to Celeste. “You have a vault at the Moretti private bank?”

“No!” Celeste cried. “I found it! Carlo had it in Boston! I took it from him!”

“You just said you never met Carlo in Boston,” Marco countered.

The trap closed.

Celeste realized what she had said. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Why do you have a Moretti vault key?” Marco asked.

Celeste looked around the room. She looked at Dr. Harris, who had suddenly gone very pale and was slowly edging toward the hallway doors.

“Don’t let the doctor leave,” Frank said loudly.

Marco’s security guard stepped in front of the doors, blocking Dr. Harris.

“I didn't do anything!” Dr. Harris stammered.

Marco turned the silver key over in his hand. “Elena, where did Carlo get this key?”

“He didn't,” Elena said. “That key didn't belong to Carlo. It belongs to the person who ordered the hit on him. Carlo stole it to prove who the traitor inside our house was.”

Marco looked at Celeste. “What is inside the vault?”

Celeste pressed her lips together, her face hardening into a mask of pure spite.

“Go ahead,” Celeste spat. “Open it. But you’re not going to find my secrets, Marco. You’re going to find yours.”