THE MAFIA’S HEIR AND THE SISTER’S SECRET

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" I backed away, my heel hitting the edge of a vacant chair. Leo stirred in my arms but didn't wake, his tiny fingers still tangled in my necklace.

Luca’s bodyguards immediately closed the distance, their massive frames blocking the exit.

"You don't have a choice, Avery," Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Someone murdered the mother of my child. Someone who knew exactly where she was hiding. And for eleven months, the only piece of the puzzle I couldn't find was the sister she claimed was dead."

"She told you I was dead?" The betrayal stung like a physical slap. Maya had let me mourn her. She had let me sit in a cold, empty apartment for years, crying over a grave that had nobody in it.

"She said she had no family left," Silas interjected smoothly, stepping forward to gently pry Leo from my arms.

I didn't want to let the baby go, but I couldn't fight a mafia boss in the middle of a restaurant. I handed Leo over, my arms instantly feeling cold and empty.

"If she told you I was dead, why are you coming after me?" I demanded.

"Because," Luca said, stepping so close I could smell the bergamot in his cologne, "two days before she was killed, three million dollars vanished from my private accounts. Maya had the passcodes. And since you’re the only family she actually had, I figured she sent it to you."

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. I looked down at my scuffed, non-slip waitress shoes. I thought of the forty-three dollars in my checking account.

"Does it look like I have three million dollars?" I snapped. "I skipped lunch today so I could afford bus fare to get to work."

Luca’s eyes swept over me. He took in my frayed cuffs, the cheap material of my uniform, and the dark circles under my eyes. A flicker of genuine confusion crossed his face.

"Bring her," Luca ordered his men.

Before I could scream for Greg, a heavy coat was draped over my shoulders, and a firm hand guided me out the back exit of the restaurant.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black SUV, flanked by two armed men, speeding through the rainy streets of Philadelphia. Luca sat in the front passenger seat, holding a sleeping Leo.

We drove through heavy iron gates into an estate that looked like a fortress. Stone walls, security cameras, and a sprawling mansion that looked cold and uninviting despite the warm lights glowing in the windows.

I was led into a massive living room. A fire roared in the hearth, but the room felt freezing.

Silas poured himself a drink at a crystal cart in the corner. Luca handed Leo to a severe-looking nanny who quickly disappeared upstairs.

"Sit," Luca told me.

I didn't sit. "I told you the truth. I don't have your money. I didn't know she was alive. Let me go."

Luca walked over to a heavy oak desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a thick manila folder and tossed it onto the coffee table. Photographs spilled out.

"I believe you didn't take the money," Luca said quietly. "My men searched your apartment while we were in the restaurant. You live in poverty. But that doesn't mean you aren't involved."

I looked down at the photos. They were surveillance pictures. Maya, looking older, more tired, but undeniably beautiful, pushing a stroller through a park.

And then, a picture of Maya talking to a man in an alleyway.

"Who is that?" I asked, pointing to the man. His face was obscured by a dark baseball cap.

"We don't know," Silas said, taking a sip of his scotch. "We suspect he’s the one who helped her steal the money. And the one who shot her when the deal went wrong."

I stared closer at the photograph. The man was wearing a very distinctive, heavy gold watch on his left wrist. The watch had a square face with a cracked leather band.

My breath caught in my throat. I looked up.

Silas was standing by the fireplace, adjusting his cuffs. As his sleeve pulled back, the firelight caught the metal on his left wrist.

A heavy gold watch. Square face. Cracked leather band.

I looked at Silas. Silas looked at me.

And in that split second, I saw the cold, murderous panic in the older man’s eyes. He knew I recognized it.

"Luca," I said, my voice trembling. "I know who the man in the photo is."