THE MAFIA BOSS, THE MAID, AND THE MOTHER'S SECRET SUITCASE

The darkness in the service shaft was absolute, heavy with the smell of old dust and cedar. My heart beat so wildly I feared the men tearing apart Vincenzo’s bedroom could hear it through the walls.

"Check the closet!" a voice barked, muffled but terrifyingly close.

I held my breath, tightening my grip around Catherine’s frail waist. The sound of hangers scraping aggressively against the metal rod echoed through the thin cedar panel. A heavy hand slammed against the wood right in front of my face.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the panel to be ripped away.

"Nothing here!" the man yelled. "Check the en-suite!"

The heavy footsteps retreated. I let out a shaky exhale, waiting until I heard the main suite doors slam shut before I dared to turn on my small penlight.

The narrow beam illuminated a steep, dusty wooden staircase leading down into the bowels of the mansion.

"Why did you lie to him?" I whispered urgently, helping Catherine carefully navigate the first step. "If Vincenzo goes to the sealed study, he’s walking into a trap with nothing to show for it!"

"Because Vincenzo’s father made me promise," Catherine panted, leaning heavily on my shoulder as we descended into the gloom. "He said that if Marco Bellamy ever made a move, Vincenzo would be too hot-headed. He would try to use the ledger as a weapon immediately. But Marco is ruthless. He wouldn't negotiate; he would slaughter."

We reached the first landing. Catherine paused to catch her breath, her hand clutching the pearl necklace at her throat.

"The ledger isn't just a book, Emma," she confessed, her voice echoing softly in the stairwell. "It’s a master key. It contains the account numbers for every offshore trust Marco Bellamy stole from the Commission. If Vincenzo destroys those accounts, Marco has nothing left to pay his men. His empire crumbles overnight."

"So why send Vincenzo to the study?" I asked, my legs trembling as we continued down.

"To buy us time," Catherine said grimly. "The study is a decoy. It’s rigged with reinforced steel doors that drop the moment the lock is turned. Vincenzo will be safe in there, untouchable, while Marco’s men waste their time trying to break him out. Meanwhile, we get the ledger and contact the Commission directly."

I stared at the eighty-year-old woman leaning on me. The frail, apologetic mother who had been humiliated at the dinner table had vanished. In her place was the widow of a mafia don, displaying a cunning that chilled me to the bone.

We finally reached the bottom of the stairs. I pushed open a heavy iron door, and we stepped into the cavernous, climate-controlled gloom of the mansion’s wine cellar. Row upon row of vintage bottles stretched into the darkness, illuminated only by emergency exit signs casting a sickly red glow.

"Where is it?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Aisle four. The bottom rack," Catherine instructed, her breathing growing ragged from the exertion.

I helped her sit on an overturned wooden wine crate, then hurried down the fourth aisle. I counted the racks, dropping to my knees when I reached the end. The bottom shelf held five dusty bottles of 1982 Bordeaux.

"Pull the third bottle," Catherine called out softly.

I reached out and pulled the middle bottle. It didn't slide out. Instead, there was a heavy, mechanical click. The entire bottom rack swung outward on a hidden hinge, revealing a small, dark cavity in the stone wall.

Inside sat a heavy, fireproof metal lockbox.

I pulled it out. It was shockingly heavy. I carried it back to Catherine, setting it on the floor between us.

"Open it," she said, nodding toward the lockbox. "The silver key."

I reached into my apron pocket, pulling out the ornate silver key that had started this entire nightmare. I slid it into the lock and turned.

The lid popped open.

Inside wasn't just a leather-bound ledger. There was a stack of faded photographs, a heavy gold signet ring, and a folded piece of thick, yellowed parchment.

But as I reached for the ledger, my hand brushed against the photographs. I knocked one over, revealing the face in the picture.

I froze.

The blood drained entirely from my face.

It was a photograph of a younger Vincenzo, smiling alongside a man I recognized instantly. A man with sharp eyes and a distinct, jagged scar across his left eyebrow.

"Emma?" Catherine asked, noticing my sudden paralysis. "What is it?"

"This man," I choked out, picking up the photograph with a trembling hand. "Who is this?"

Catherine frowned, peering closely at the picture in the dim red light. "That’s Thomas. He was Vincenzo’s most trusted lieutenant twenty years ago. Before he betrayed the family and stole three million dollars. He disappeared. Why?"

My stomach violently heaved. The world tilted sideways.

"Because," I whispered, the horrifying truth tearing through my throat, "that’s my father."

Catherine went perfectly still. "Your father?"

"He abandoned my mother and me when I was seven," I said, tears blurring my vision. "He said he had to go away for work. We never saw him again."

Catherine stared at me, horror dawning in her faded blue eyes. She reached into the lockbox and pulled out the folded piece of yellowed parchment. She opened it with shaking hands.

It was a contract, signed in blood.

"Oh, my God," Catherine breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.

"What is it?" I demanded, the fear morphing into a desperate, agonizing panic.

"Thomas didn't betray the family," Catherine read the paper, her voice cracking. "He took the fall. Marco Bellamy stole the three million dollars twenty years ago. Thomas discovered it, and Marco threatened to kill his wife and daughter—you and your mother—if Thomas didn't take the blame and disappear."

Tears spilled down my cheeks. My father hadn't abandoned us because he didn't love us. He had walked away to keep us alive.

Before I could process the devastating revelation, the heavy iron door at the top of the cellar stairs slammed open with a deafening crash.

"Well, well," a smooth, vicious voice echoed down the stairwell.

I spun around, dropping the photograph.

Serena Bellamy stood at the top of the stairs, still wearing her crimson silk gown, holding a suppressed pistol aimed directly at us. Behind her stood two large men in tactical gear.

"I told my father the old bat was smarter than she looked," Serena sneered, descending the stairs slowly. "I knew you’d lie to Vincenzo about the study. But you couldn't lie to me."