THE MAFIA BOSS AND THE WAITRESS: A DANGEROUS BOND

I stood frozen in the lavender bedroom, the heavy brass key pressing into my palm.

Answer One, Open Two. My grandmother used to say that about secrets. You answer one question, only to rip open two worse ones. The drawing answered why Isabella had left without a word—she was running from the man with the snake. But it opened two massive holes: What did this key unlock, and why did she burden a five-year-old child with it?

I smoothed the blankets over Sophia’s sleeping form, my heart aching for the little girl. Then, clutching the drawing and the key, I walked back out to the living room.

Dante was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, pouring amber liquor into a crystal glass. Without his jacket, the holster strapped over his white dress shirt was fully visible. A stark reminder of exactly who I was dealing with.

"She’s asleep," I said softly.

He didn't turn around. "Did she wake up? Did she speak?"

"No." I took a deep breath, crossing the marble floor. "But I think I know why she’s so terrified."

I placed the drawing and the brass key on the sleek glass coffee table.

Dante turned. He looked at the items, his brow furrowing. He walked over, picking up the drawing first. His eyes scanned the frantic crayon strokes. When his gaze landed on the stick figure with the green snake, his jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter.

The temperature in the room plummeted.

"Where did you find this?" Dante demanded, his voice a lethal, vibrating baritone.

"In her pocket," I replied, crossing my arms to hide my trembling hands. "Dante... who is the man with the snake?"

Dante slowly set the drawing down and picked up the brass key. He traced the numbers engraved on the metal: 402.

"My marriage to Isabella was an arrangement," Dante said, staring at the key, his voice devoid of all warmth. "It was meant to unite two families. There was no love. She had her life, and I had mine. But I thought she loved Sophia."

He looked up at me, his gray eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fire.

"The man with the snake tattoo is Silas. He’s an enforcer for a rival cartel we’ve been trying to force out of the city. He is a butcher, Clara. If Isabella was dealing with Silas, she wasn't just having an affair. She was betraying this family."

A chill ran down my spine. "You think she stole something from you?"

"I think this key leads to whatever she traded her life for," Dante murmured.

Before he could say another word, the private elevator chimed in the foyer.

Dante instantly dropped the key into his pocket and pulled his suit jacket over his holster. The doors slid open, and I gasped in surprise.

It was Tony. My boss from Bellanote.

Tony stepped into the penthouse, looking incredibly out of place on the imported marble. He was holding my battered faux-leather purse.

"Tony? What are you doing here?" I asked, rushing over to him.

"You left this at the restaurant in all the chaos, kid," Tony said, offering me the purse with a tight, nervous smile. "I wanted to make sure you got here safely. Mr. Russo’s men downstairs gave me a hard time, but they finally let me up."

"Thank you," I said, touched by his gesture. Tony had always been like a father to me since I moved to the city.

But as I reached for my purse, Tony’s sleeve hitched up slightly.

He was wearing a brand-new, diamond-encrusted Rolex.

I paused. Tony was constantly complaining about the restaurant’s failing margins. He drove a fifteen-year-old Honda. He couldn't afford to fix the walk-in freezer, let alone buy a thirty-thousand-dollar watch.

"Are you treating her well, Mr. Russo?" Tony asked, his voice overly loud, a forced joviality masking the sweat beading on his forehead.

"She is an employee, Tony," Dante said coldly, stepping between us. "Not a hostage. You can leave now."

Tony swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the luxurious room before he backed into the elevator. "Right. See you later, Clara."

The doors closed. I stood there, clutching my purse, an uneasy feeling settling deep in my gut. Tony was sweating in a climate-controlled room. And the way he had looked around the penthouse wasn't with awe. It was with calculation.

I walked into the kitchen to set my purse on the granite counter. As I set it down, a heavy thud echoed from inside the bag.

I unzipped it. Lying at the bottom of my purse, completely hidden beneath my wallet, was a cheap, black burner phone.

I didn't own a burner phone.