THE GREENHOUSE DOOR WAS UNLOCKED LONG BEFORE WE ARRIVED

The wind howled across the manicured lawn, scattering the hundred-dollar bills across the marble steps like dead leaves.

“You’re lying,” I said, my voice shaking. “My father is a good man. He would never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, please,” Vanessa sneered, her composure entirely gone. She looked wild, her perfect hair blowing in the wind. “Ask Luca how his father died. Go on, Emma. Ask him.”

I looked at Luca. He was staring at the silver pocket watch on the ground, his face pale.

“My father died of a heart attack in his study,” Luca said slowly. “I was seven. My mother found him.”

“That’s the story the family paid the coroner to write,” Vanessa said with a bitter laugh. “But my father was the family’s lawyer back then. He knew the truth. Your father didn’t have a heart attack, Luca. He was beaten to death with a garden shovel. And the man who did it was Viktor Petrov. Her father.”

“No,” I stepped back, covering Leo’s ears so he wouldn’t hear the viciousness in her voice. “You’re making this up to save yourself.”

“Am I?” Vanessa knelt and snatched the silver pocket watch from the marble. She clicked the top button. The casing popped open.

Inside the lid was an engraved message: To Viktor. For protecting us. – M.

“Your mother gave him this watch, Luca,” Vanessa said, holding it up like a trophy. “Because Viktor didn’t just kill the boss. He did it on your mother’s orders. They were having an affair. They killed your father, hid the murder weapon in the greenhouse, and buried the proof.”

“Shut up,” Luca growled, stepping toward her.

“And then,” Vanessa continued, her eyes wide and manic, “Viktor ran. He took a new name, moved to the suburbs, and raised a little girl. While your mother stayed here and played the grieving widow.”

I felt physically sick. My father… a murderer? A man who spent hours teaching me how to ride a bike, who saved every penny for my college tuition, who cried when my mother died of cancer ten years ago. It couldn’t be the same man.

Luca reached out and snatched the watch from Vanessa’s hand. He stared at the engraving.

“Where did you find this?” Luca asked, his voice dead flat.

“Leo dug it out of the metal lockbox under the floorboards,” Vanessa said smugly. “Along with the deed to this estate.”

“I didn’t find a deed!” Leo cried out from behind me, burying his face in my apron. “I only found the watch and the beads, I promise!”

Vanessa’s eyes flared with anger. “You lying little—”

“What beads?” I asked gently, kneeling down to Leo’s eye level.

Leo reached into the pocket of his pajama pants. His tiny hand trembled as he pulled out a heavy, antique gold rosary.

I gasped.

I recognized it instantly. Vanessa had been wearing it at the engagement dinner tonight, wrapped twice around her wrist like a bracelet. I had seen her adjusting it when she told me to throw away Mr. Petrov’s cake.

“She made me give it to her this afternoon,” Leo whispered to me. “But when she was yelling at the men outside, I sneaked it back from her coat pocket. Because it smells like Grammy.”

Luca knelt beside me. He gently took the rosary from Leo’s hand.

“My mother’s rosary,” Luca said softly. He rubbed his thumb over the gold crucifix. Then, his brow furrowed.

He held the cross closer to the porch light.

The gold was tarnished. But not with age. There were dark, dried, rust-colored stains wedged deep into the crevices of the beads.

“This isn’t dirt,” Luca said, his voice turning to ice. “This is blood.”

He stood up, towering over Vanessa.

“My father wasn’t beaten with a shovel,” Luca said, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “He was stabbed. The coroner’s report said it was a heart attack to cover up the blood in the study. But my mother told me the truth before she died. She said she fought him off when he came after me in a drunken rage.”

Vanessa took a step back, her smugness faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My mother always prayed with this rosary,” Luca continued, advancing on her. “She was holding it the night my father died. If this was in the lockbox, it’s because she buried it to hide the blood. But you didn’t just want the deed, did you, Vanessa? You wanted this.”

Vanessa bumped into the stone pillar of the porch. Her men were useless, standing frozen under Marco’s watchful, armed gaze.

“Your family’s lawyer father didn’t just cover up the murder,” Luca realized, the pieces finally clicking into place. “He orchestrated it. He wanted my father out of the way so he could take control of the family business. And when my mother found out, she buried the proof. She hid the ledger, the watch, and the rosary in the greenhouse, and she gave the only key to the one man she trusted.”

He turned to look at me.

“Viktor. Your father.”

Vanessa’s face twisted with pure hatred. She looked at me, then back to Luca.

“So what?” she spat. “Even if you know the truth, it doesn’t matter. Because if you break this engagement, Luca, I swear to God I will call the police right now and tell them exactly where Viktor Petrov is. I will have Emma’s father arrested for the murder of a mafia boss. He’ll die in prison before the trial even starts.”

She smiled, a cold, venomous grin.

“You’re trapped, Luca. Marry me, or Emma loses her father forever.”

Before Luca could answer, a set of headlights cut through the darkness.

A rusted, beat-up sedan pulled up the driveway, stopping right behind Marco’s SUV.

The driver’s door opened.

And out stepped the old man from the engagement dinner. The actor who had brought the prune cake.

Only, he wasn’t alone.

He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.

An old man stepped out. He moved slowly, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. The left side of his face drooped slightly, the lingering aftermath of a severe stroke.