THE BOSS, THE BRIDE, AND THE GIRL WHO COULDN'T SPEAK

I stared at the phone in my hand, the screen fading to black.

“Sarah is alive,” I whispered. The air rushed out of my lungs. For two years, I had prepared myself for a grave. Now, she was a bargaining chip.

Nico pulled Marco to his feet by his collar. “Where is the boathouse? Which one?”

“The old Moretti property,” Marco groaned, swaying slightly. “On the edge of the wetlands. But Nico, you can’t go. It’s a trap. She’s working for the Morettis. They want the ledger to dismantle your whole operation.”

“Take him to the basement,” Nico told the two security men who had finally rushed into the room. He didn't spare Marco another glance.

Nico turned to me. “Pack a bag for Lily. Warm clothes. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” I asked, still in shock. “But the boathouse—”

“I don’t have the ledger, Kate,” Nico said, his voice thick with frustration. “Elena hid it five years ago. I’ve turned this house upside down a hundred times looking for it. If I show up without it, Vivienne will kill your sister and me.”

“She said Sarah hid it,” I realized. “Sarah was obsessed with puzzles. She wouldn't just bury it in the yard.”

I looked around my small bedroom. The staff quarters hadn’t been remodeled in a decade. The same furniture was here when Sarah lived in this exact room.

I dropped to my knees and pulled open the bottom drawer of the old pine dresser. It was where Sarah used to hide her diary when we were kids. I pressed my fingers against the bottom panel.

It was loose.

I pried the wooden board up. Underneath, wrapped in a plastic grocery bag, was a small, black leather notebook.

Nico knelt beside me, his eyes wide. He took the notebook and flipped it open. Rows and rows of handwritten accounts, bank routing numbers, and offshore shell companies filled the pages.

“This is it,” Nico breathed. “She had it right under my roof the entire time.”

I reached back into the hidden compartment. There was something else. A small, stiff piece of paper.

I pulled it out. It was a ferry ticket.

It was dated for tomorrow at 6 AM. Destination: San Marco Island. And the name printed on the passenger manifest wasn't Vivienne’s.

It was Sarah Hayes.

“Mr. Caruso,” I said, my voice shaking as I handed him the ticket. “Vivienne isn't holding my sister hostage. She’s putting her on a boat tomorrow morning.”

Nico looked at the ticket, his brow furrowing. “Why would Vivienne pay for your sister to escape?”

“Because,” a small voice said.

We both turned. Lily was standing by the door, holding her pink school backpack. She had unzipped the front pocket and was pulling out a heavy, folded winter coat.

It was a man’s coat. Dark wool, completely out of place in a child’s room.

“Lily, whose coat is that?” Nico asked gently.

“Uncle Vincent’s,” Lily said. “He told me to keep it in my bag. He said he was playing a game with you.”

Nico went completely still. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost.

Vincent was Nico’s older brother. The man who had supposedly retired from the family business ten years ago to live a quiet life in Europe.

Nico reached into the pocket of the wool coat. He pulled out a photograph.

He turned it around so I could see it.