THE MAFIA BOSS LOCKED THE DOORS AT HIS OWN ANNIVERSARY DINNER—BUT THE MAID AND THE 81-YEAR-OLD WIDOW WERE ABOUT TO EXPOSE A DEADLY FAMILY SECRET.

The heavy silence in the dining room was broken only by the sound of Dorothy’s jagged breathing. The elderly widow gripped my hand so tightly her knuckles were white.

Victoria stumbled backward, her designer heels catching on the edge of the Persian rug. She looked around the locked room, her eyes wide, realizing she was entirely surrounded by Vincent’s loyalists and panicked, silent guests.

“Vincent, this is insane,” Victoria stammered, forcing a shrill, unnatural laugh. “It’s a child’s drawing! He saw me walk past the office today, that’s all! And as for this bracelet—”

“Take it off,” Vincent commanded.

“Vincent, you bought this for me in Paris last year! Don't you remember?”

“Take. It. Off.”

His voice didn't rise, but the absolute malice in his tone made two of the businessmen at the table physically recoil in their chairs.

Victoria’s hands shook violently as she fumbled with the intricate gold clasp of the heavy emerald bracelet. It fell from her wrist, clattering loudly onto the mahogany table.

Vincent picked it up. He turned it over, his thumb tracing the underside of the gold setting.

“I had this custom-made for my wife on our fifth anniversary,” Vincent said softly, his eyes locked onto the jewels. “I had the jeweler engrave her initials, E.M., onto the inner clasp. When she died, I put it in the family vault. I have never taken it out.”

He looked up, his gaze piercing through Victoria’s soul.

“You told me you lost the diamond bracelet I bought you in Paris,” Vincent said. “You’ve been wearing my dead wife’s jewelry, parading it in my home, thinking I wouldn't look closely enough to notice.”

Victoria’s mask of arrogance completely shattered. The polished, terrifying fiancée was gone, replaced by a cornered animal.

“I didn't steal it!” Victoria shrieked, pointing a shaking finger across the room. “He gave it to me! Michael gave it to me!”

Michael Moretti, still standing guard by the locked double doors, went rigid.

“You lying bitch,” Michael snarled, stepping forward. “I never gave you anything!”

“He’s lying, Vincent!” Victoria screamed, tears of panic streaming down her face, ruining her perfect makeup. “Michael took it from the vault! He gave it to me months ago to keep me quiet!”

Vincent turned his attention to his younger brother. “Quiet about what?”

Michael held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Vincent, look at her. She’s hysterical. She’s trying to drag me down because the kid saw her sneaking around the finance office. She’s the one stealing the pension funds.”

“I didn't steal the funds!” Victoria cried out. She turned to Raymond, who was still trembling in his chair. “Tell him, Raymond! Tell him it wasn't me!”

Raymond looked down at the table, refusing to make eye contact with her.

“Raymond?” Vincent asked, his voice dropping dangerously low.

“She… she was the one who left the pocket watch on my pillow,” Raymond whispered, tears hitting the mahogany wood. “Victoria gave me the forged authorizations. She said if I didn't process them, she would tell you I was skimming from the casino accounts.”

“You were skimming from the casinos?” Vincent asked, his expression unreadable.

“Just a little!” Raymond wept. “To pay off a gambling debt! I was going to put it back! But Victoria found out, and she used it to force me to steal from the pension fund for her!”

Victoria let out a guttural scream of frustration. “Because I had to! You don't understand, Vincent! I was forced into this too!”

Vincent took a slow, calculated step toward her. “Who forced you?”

Victoria opened her mouth to speak, her eyes darting nervously toward Michael. But before she could say a word, I stepped forward.

I couldn't stay silent anymore. My loyalty was to this family—the real family, the one that included Dorothy and little Leo.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, my voice cutting through the shouting.

Vincent stopped. He turned to look at me, a lowly maid in a black-and-white uniform. “What is it, Anna?”

“Miss Victoria isn't telling the truth about being forced to stay here,” I said, my heart pounding so hard I felt dizzy. “She isn't a victim.”

Victoria shot me a look of pure, venomous hatred. “Shut your mouth, you little rat! I’ll have you thrown onto the street!”

I didn't flinch. I kept my eyes on Vincent.

“When I was cleaning the master suite this morning, Mr. Moretti,” I continued, my voice steadying, “I was asked to organize Miss Victoria’s walk-in closet. Her red designer handbag was knocked over. The contents spilled onto the floor.”

“Anna, stop!” Victoria screamed, lunging toward me.

Before she could take two steps, Michael grabbed her by the arm, violently jerking her backward.

“Let the maid speak,” Michael sneered, though his eyes looked incredibly nervous.

“When I picked up her belongings,” I said, looking directly into Vincent’s eyes, “I found something hidden in the zipper lining of her wallet.”

Vincent stepped closer to me. “What did you find, Anna?”

“It was a train ticket, sir,” I answered clearly. “A first-class, one-way ticket out of Chicago. Under an assumed name.”

The room fell dead silent again.

Vincent slowly turned his head to look at Victoria.

“A train ticket,” Vincent repeated, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. “For when?”

I swallowed hard. “For tonight, sir. The departure time is 11:30 PM.”

Vincent looked up at the grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the dining room. It was 10:15 PM.

Victoria was supposed to leave the anniversary dinner early, claiming a migraine, and vanish into the night with the stolen pension money.

“You were leaving me,” Vincent said softly. It wasn't a question.

Victoria began to sob uncontrollably. She sank to her knees on the expensive rug, her beautiful red gown pooling around her.

“I had to, Vincent,” she wept, covering her face with her hands. “They were going to kill me. The people I owe money to… they don't care that I’m marrying a Moretti. They said if I didn't pay them by midnight tonight, they would murder me.”

“Who do you owe money to?” Vincent demanded, his patience entirely exhausted. “Who would dare threaten a woman under my protection?”

Victoria looked up, her mascara running in dark rivers down her cheeks. She pointed a trembling finger directly at Michael.

“He does!” she screamed. “Your own brother! Michael is the one stealing the pension funds, Vincent! And he’s been using me to do his dirty work!”

Michael’s face contorted in absolute fury. He reached inside his tailored jacket, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was pulling a gun.

Several guests screamed, ducking under the table. I threw my arms around Leo, pulling the little boy tight against my chest to shield him.

But Michael didn't pull a weapon.

Instead, he pulled out a crumpled, glossy piece of paper. He slammed it down onto the mahogany table with devastating force.

“You want to play this game, Victoria?” Michael roared, his face flushed purple. “Let’s play!”

Vincent slowly walked over to the table. He picked up the crumpled paper.

It was an old, unauthorized surveillance photograph.

“Answer one,” Michael spat, pacing like a caged tiger. “Victoria isn't running from me. She’s running from her past. Open two: Look at who she was secretly meeting with eight months ago, Vincent. Look at who she really works for.”

Vincent stared at the photograph. His hands began to shake.

I peered over his arm, catching a glimpse of the photo. It showed Victoria sitting in a dimly lit diner booth across from a terrifying, heavily scarred man I immediately recognized from the news. It was the boss of the Russian syndicate—the Moretti family’s most hated, blood-sworn rival.

But it wasn't the Russian boss that made my blood turn to ice.

It was what was sitting in the background of the photograph.