TITLE: THE MOB BOSS’S FIANCÉE TRIED TO BANISH HIS 11-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER—BUT ONE SLIP OF THE TONGUE UNLEASHED A DEADLY FAMILY SECRET

“Emily!” I screamed, abandoning Vanessa against the wall. I ran to the terrace doors, plunging out into the cold night air. “Emily!”

The expansive lawns of the Romano estate stretched out into total darkness. The wind howled through the ancient oak trees, carrying my voice away into nothingness. There was no sign of her. No small footprints on the frost-covered grass. Just the sprawling, terrifying blackness of a fifty-acre property.

Behind me, the dining room erupted into chaos. Dominic shouted orders into his phone, mobilizing every security guard on the payroll. The massive floodlights surrounding the manor snapped on, turning the grounds into a harsh, artificial daylight.

“Where did she go?” Dominic demanded, rushing out onto the terrace, his gun already drawn. He grabbed my shoulders. “Grace, where would she run?”

My mind raced. Emily was a smart girl. She hadn’t just wandered off in a panic. She had deliberately slipped away while we were distracted by Michael’s confession. She had taken the boarding school card, the drawing, and the bracelet.

She’s gathering evidence.

“The boathouse,” I gasped, the realization hitting me like a lightning bolt. “Catherine’s old art studio. When Catherine got sick, we moved all her personal belongings down to the old boathouse to keep them safe. Emily used to go down there to hide when she missed her mother.”

Dominic didn’t say another word. He vaulted over the stone balustrade and sprinted across the frozen lawn toward the lake. I lifted my heavy skirt and ran after him, my chest burning with the freezing air.

If Emily was at the boathouse, she was nearly half a mile away from the safety of the main house.

And we weren’t the only ones who realized she was missing.

As we ran down the sloping hill toward the water, I saw a flicker of movement near the tree line. A shadow, moving fast. It was Michael. He had slipped out during the confusion and was taking a shortcut through the woods.

“Michael is heading there too!” I yelled, pointing at the trees.

Dominic cursed violently in Italian, pushing his legs faster.

The boathouse sat on the edge of the dark, freezing lake. It was a wooden structure, weathered and gray, with large glass windows overlooking the water. Inside, a single, dim yellow light was burning.

We reached the wooden docks, our footsteps thundering against the planks. Dominic kicked the heavy boathouse door open, his gun raised.

“Emily!” he shouted.

The room was a mess of old canvases, easels, and dusty furniture covered in white sheets. But standing in the center of the room was Emily.

She wasn’t alone.

Vanessa was standing behind her, one hand gripping Emily’s small shoulder, the other holding a heavy iron fire poker she must have grabbed from the manor. Vanessa’s crimson dress was torn and muddy, her hair wild. She looked like a cornered animal.

“Take one more step, Dominic, and I’ll split her skull open!” Vanessa shrieked, pressing the iron poker against Emily’s collarbone.

Emily was terrified, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, but she was clutching a large leather-bound journal to her chest.

Answer One. Vanessa hadn’t tried to run away. She had followed Emily to use her as a hostage to guarantee her escape.

Open Two. What was in the journal Emily was holding? And where was Michael?

“Let her go, Vanessa,” Dominic said, his voice deadly calm. He aimed the gun directly at Vanessa’s forehead. “You have three seconds before I put a bullet between your eyes.”

“If you shoot me, my muscles will spasm, and I’ll crush her collarbone!” Vanessa screamed, panic elevating her pitch. “I want a car! I want a car to the airport, and I want the offshore account numbers! Now!”

“Let the girl go, Vanessa.”

The voice didn’t come from Dominic.

It came from the shadows in the corner of the boathouse.

Reversal.

Michael stepped out from behind a stack of covered furniture. He was bruised, bleeding, and trembling, but his eyes were wide with a manic, desperate energy.

Vanessa laughed. “Michael! Thank God. Grab his gun. We can still get out of this. We can take the boy and go.”

“There is no ‘we’ anymore, Vanessa,” Michael said, his voice breaking.

He raised his hands. In his right hand, he was holding Dominic’s silver-plated revolver—the backup weapon Dominic always kept locked in his desk. Michael must have grabbed it before fleeing the house.

But Michael didn’t point the gun at Dominic.

He pointed it directly at Vanessa’s chest.

“You lied to me,” Michael wept, his hands shaking violently. “You told me the Morettis found Oliver. You told me they were blackmailing me.”

Vanessa’s face went completely white. “Michael, put the gun down—”

“I read the journal!” Michael screamed, pointing at the leather book in Emily’s arms. “Emily showed it to me! Catherine found out about Oliver three years ago! She wrote it all down! The Morettis didn’t blackmail me, Vanessa. You did. You hired the woman with the tattoo. You set up the debt. You manipulated me into letting my own sister-in-law die, just so you could take Dominic’s empire!”