THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS MAID—UNTIL HIS MOTHER EXPOSED HER DARKEST SECRET

The dining room was so quiet I could hear the rain lashing against the mansion’s towering windows.

Forty guests sat frozen.

Luca’s dark eyes locked onto mine. The calm exterior of the city’s most feared man was gone, replaced by a terrifying, absolute stillness.

“Hannah,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous baritone. “Whose name did you hear Vanessa say?”

My hands shook. I looked at Vanessa, who was staring at me with a silent, vicious threat in her eyes. She silently mouthed the word fired.

But then I felt Teresa’s frail fingers squeeze my arm. She was counting on me.

“I was passing Mrs. Moretti’s door yesterday,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. “Vanessa was inside, pacing. She was speaking on her cell phone. She was angry. She said, ‘If Arthur left the blanket behind, you need to find it before the old woman does.’”

A collective gasp echoed through the room.

Luca stepped back. “Arthur?”

Arthur was the name of the private driver who had been behind the wheel the night Catherine’s car went off the bridge in the rain. He had supposedly died on impact, right alongside Luca’s wife.

“That’s a lie!” Vanessa shrieked, her perfectly manicured hands curling into fists. “She’s lying! She’s a desperate maid trying to extort us! Arthur is dead!”

Luca didn’t look at his fiancée. He kept his eyes on his mother. “Mom. Is this true?”

Teresa reached into the pocket of her wool cardigan. Her hand was shaking violently, but she didn’t pull out a tissue.

She pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver locket.

“I didn’t want to believe it, Luca,” Teresa wept. “When they brought Catherine’s personal effects back from the crash site four years ago, they handed me her purse. This locket was shoved deep inside the lining. Catherine didn’t wear silver. She only wore gold.”

Luca slowly walked over and took the locket from his mother’s trembling palm.

“Open it,” Teresa whispered.

Luca pressed the small clasp. The locket sprang open.

I stood close enough to see his face drain of all color. The muscle in his jaw flexed so hard I thought it might snap.

“Where did you get this, Vanessa?” Luca asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Vanessa stumbled backward, hitting the edge of the dining table. Several wine glasses tipped over, shattering onto the hardwood floor. Red wine pooled around her designer heels like blood.

“Luca, please,” she stammered. “It’s not what it looks like.”

He turned the locket around so the forty stunned guests could see it.

Inside was a small, folded photograph of Vanessa. She was younger, her arms wrapped tightly around the neck of a tall, broad-shouldered man.

It was Arthur.

But it wasn't just a casual photo. Engraved into the silver on the opposite side of the locket was a date.

October 14th.

The exact day Catherine died.

“You were with him,” Luca said, taking a step toward her. “You were with the man who drove my wife off a bridge. And you left this in her car.”

“No!” Vanessa cried, tears streaking her makeup. “Arthur and I… we were together before I met you! He was obsessed with me! He must have planted it there to ruin my chances with you!”

It was a convincing lie. For a split second, I saw a flicker of doubt in Luca’s eyes.

But Teresa wasn't finished.

“Hannah,” the old woman commanded, her voice suddenly strong. “Go to Vanessa’s suite. Bring me the cedar box from under her bed.”

Vanessa lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with bruising force. “Don’t you dare go near my room, you pathetic little maid!”

Luca didn’t raise his voice. He simply looked at the massive security guard standing by the door. “Marcus. Escort my fiancée to a chair. And make sure she stays in it.”

Marcus stepped forward, prying Vanessa’s fingers off my wrist and forcing her into a heavy velvet chair.

“Go, Hannah,” Luca said.

I ran. I sprinted up the grand staircase, my heart hammering in my throat. I reached the master suite and dropped to my knees, pulling the heavy cedar box from beneath the king-sized bed. It was locked, but I grabbed a heavy brass bookend from the nightstand and smashed the brass padlock until it broke.

I threw open the lid.

Inside, resting on top of a pile of Vanessa’s expensive silk scarves, was the missing baby blanket.

It was faded blue, worn at the edges. But as I picked it up, something heavy slipped from the folds and clattered against the bottom of the wooden box.

I froze.

It was a man’s leather wallet. Dark brown, water-stained, and smelling faintly of river water.

I opened it. Inside was an Illinois driver’s license belonging to Arthur.

But tucked behind the ID was something that made the breath leave my lungs.