THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE POURED WINE ON HER MAID—THEN THE MAID TRANSLATED A SECRET THAT STOPPED THE WEDDING

The small staff locker room felt as though all the oxygen had been instantly sucked out of it.

Mrs. Gable stood in the doorway, her gray hair pulled back into its usual severe bun, her hands folded neatly over her black apron.

For eleven months, she had been my supervisor. She had taught me how to fold the linen napkins and which silver polish Luca preferred.

Now, she was looking at me like I was a ghost.

“Close the door, Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice shaking.

She stepped inside and pushed the heavy wooden door shut until the latch clicked.

I slowly brought my hands out from behind my back.

The emerald bracelet caught the harsh fluorescent light of the locker room, the green stones glittering against my calloused palms.

“Why is Vanessa’s stolen bracelet inside the lining of my coat?” I demanded, taking a step toward the older woman.

Mrs. Gable didn’t flinch.

Her eyes simply dropped to the jewelry, filled with a profound, terrifying sadness.

“It isn’t Vanessa’s bracelet,” Mrs. Gable said quietly. “She bought a cheap replica for the engagement party to make Luca think she had inherited family heirlooms. That bracelet belongs to Lorenzo Moretti’s late wife. Luca’s mother.”

I stared at the older woman.

“Luca’s mother died twenty years ago,” I said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Gable nodded. “And that bracelet went missing from the family vault the night she died.”

My mind raced.

“Then how did it get into my locker?” I asked, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm. “Who put it in my coat?”

Mrs. Gable looked up at my face.

She studied my eyes, my cheekbones, the shape of my jaw.

“Your mother put it there, Emily,” she whispered.

I froze.

The emeralds felt suddenly heavy, like lead dragging down my hands.

“My mother?” I choked out. “My mother hasn’t left her apartment in three years. She has multiple sclerosis. She’s never been inside this mansion.”

“She was inside this mansion twenty-five years ago,” Mrs. Gable corrected gently. “Before she got sick. Before you were born.”

I shook my head, rejecting the impossible words.

“No. My mother’s name is Clara Carter. She was a seamstress.”

“Her name is Clara,” Mrs. Gable agreed. “But she wasn’t just a seamstress. She was Lorenzo Moretti’s personal secretary.”

The locker room started to spin.

I grabbed the edge of the metal bench to steady myself.

“My mother worked for the Mafia?” I breathed.

“Your mother worked for a man she deeply respected,” Mrs. Gable said. “Lorenzo wasn’t like the men he did business with. He was trying to legitimize the family. He was trying to protect Luca and Michael from the life. Clara helped him manage the legal accounts.”

Mrs. Gable took a slow step closer to me.

“Twenty years ago, when Luca’s mother died in what everyone thought was a tragic car accident, Clara found the truth. She found out that Salvatore Bellini had orchestrated the crash to hurt Lorenzo.”

I gasped, looking down at the emerald bracelet.

“Clara found the proof,” Mrs. Gable continued, her voice breaking. “But Salvatore found out she knew. He sent men to her apartment. They threatened her. They told her if she ever spoke a word, they would kill her unborn child.”

She looked at my stomach.

“They would kill you, Emily.”

Tears spilled over my eyelashes.

My mother.

My sweet, fragile mother, who always told me my father had died before I was born. Who always saved every penny to make sure I had a good life.

She had been living in hiding for twenty-five years.

“To prove they meant it,” Mrs. Gable said, pointing at the bracelet in my hand, “Salvatore’s men gave Clara that emerald bracelet. They had stolen it from Luca’s mother’s wrist after the crash. They told Clara to keep it as a reminder of what happens to women who cross the Bellini family.”

I gripped the bracelet so tightly the stones dug into my skin.

“Why did she put it in my coat?” I cried.

“Because three months ago, when you got the job here, she was terrified,” Mrs. Gable explained. “She couldn’t tell you the truth without putting a target on your back. But she knew that if Salvatore ever recognized you, you would need proof to show Luca why Salvatore was really in this house.”

She reached out and gently touched my arm.

“She slipped it into the lining of your heavy wool coat before winter started. She called me and begged me to watch over you. To make sure you stayed invisible.”

Mrs. Gable offered a sad, watery smile.

“You didn’t stay invisible tonight, Emily.”

A loud, sudden pounding on the locker room door made us both jump.

“Emily!”

It was Luca’s voice.

Deep, urgent, and commanding.

“Emily, open the door.”

Mrs. Gable’s face drained of color.

“Hide it,” she panicked, grabbing my shoulders. “Emily, if Luca sees his mother’s stolen bracelet in your hands, he won’t listen to the story! He’ll think you’re working for the people who killed her! He’ll think you’re a spy!”

“I can’t lie to him!” I argued.

“He is a Moretti!” Mrs. Gable hissed fiercely. “He just found out his fiancée betrayed him and his father was murdered by his business partners! He is not in a forgiving mood! Put it away!”

I looked at the heavy wooden door rattling on its hinges.

Then I looked at the emerald bracelet.

I shoved the bracelet deep into the pocket of my jeans just as the lock clicked and the door swung open.

Luca stood in the doorway.

He had taken off his suit jacket. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the dark ink of the tattoos wrapping around his neck and chest.

He looked exhausted, dangerous, and incredibly handsome.

He glanced at Mrs. Gable, then focused entirely on me.

“Are you alright?” Luca asked, his dark eyes scanning my face for tears.

“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice shaking slightly.

Mrs. Gable bowed her head respectfully.

“I was just making sure she had a fresh uniform to take home, sir,” she said smoothly, walking past him out of the room. “Goodnight, Mr. Moretti.”

Luca didn’t acknowledge her departure.

He stepped into the small locker room, the space immediately feeling too tight for his broad shoulders.

“I need your help, Emily,” he said.

I swallowed hard, hyper-aware of the heavy jewelry burning a hole in my pocket.

“My help with what, Luca?”

“Vanessa didn’t just pack her bags,” Luca said, his jaw tightening. “Before she left, she broke into my study. She took something.”

My stomach dropped.

“What did she take?”

“A file,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a harsh, dangerous whisper. “A file containing the adoption records for a child born twenty-five years ago.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, searching intensity.

“Emily, my mother didn’t die in a car crash twenty years ago. She faked her death to protect her second child. A child she hid from my father to keep safe from the life.”

I stopped breathing.

“Vanessa knows who the child is,” Luca said, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. “And she left a note saying if I ever want to find my missing sister, I have to give her the restaurant.”

Luca reached out and gently tilted my chin up so I was forced to look into his eyes.

“I need you to translate Vanessa’s old journals,” Luca said softly. “I need you to help me find my sister.”

I stared up at the Mafia boss.

My mother’s words echoed in my head. My father died before I was born.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the cold emerald stones.

And for the first time in my life, I wondered who my father really was.

“I’ll help you find her, Luca,” I whispered.

But as I said the words, my phone buzzed in my back pocket.

I stepped back, pulling it out.

It was a text message from an unknown number.

I opened it.

There was no text.