THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO THROW HIS DEAD MOTHER’S WEDDING DRESS IN THE TRASH—BUT WHEN I CARRIED IT INTO THEIR ENGAGEMENT PHOTOGRAPHS, HE DROPPED TO HIS KNEES AND BEGGED ME NOT TO PUT IT DOWN.

I couldn’t breathe.

I stared at the photograph, my mind completely short-circuiting.

Victor Bellini. The man who had just tried to kill us. The man who ordered the murder of Luca’s parents.

Why was he holding my mother like a lover?

I quickly shoved the photograph back into my apron pocket before Luca or Isabella could see it.

My mother was busy hugging Leo, her face glowing with a relief I hadn’t seen in twenty years. She looked so innocent. So tired.

But the photograph burned against my leg like a hot coal.

“Emma?” Luca’s voice pulled me back to reality.

He was standing close to me. So close I could smell his expensive cologne mixed with the faint scent of gunpowder.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning my face with deep concern.

“I’m... I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re pale.” He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The touch sent a shiver down my spine. “Go upstairs. Take the master guest suite. Marcus will post a guard outside your door. Get some sleep.”

“What about the dress?” I asked, looking toward the ruined wedding gown draped over the armchair.

Luca followed my gaze. A soft smile touched his lips.

“Leave it. We’ll fix it tomorrow.”

I nodded, feeling a heavy knot of guilt in my stomach.

I left the study and walked up the grand staircase. The mansion was completely silent now. The guards nodded to me respectfully—a massive shift from the way they used to ignore me.

When I reached the guest suite, I closed the door and locked it.

I pulled the photograph out of my pocket and threw it onto the bed.

I stared at it under the soft lamplight.

Who put this in my pocket?

During the chaos in the foyer, someone had slipped it into my apron. Vanessa? A corrupt guard?

I turned the photograph over.

Written on the back in elegant, cursive handwriting were the words:

Ask her why she really ran.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was an unknown number.

I hesitated, then answered it.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Did you find the picture, Emma?” a woman’s voice asked.

It was Vanessa. She was calling from the police precinct.

“How did you get a phone?” I demanded.

Vanessa laughed. “Money buys a lot of things, Emma. Including a private phone call before processing.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to know the truth,” Vanessa hissed. “You think your mother is a saint? You think she hid the Moretti baby out of the goodness of her heart?”

“She did!”

“She hid the baby because Victor Bellini paid her to!” Vanessa snapped. “My father didn’t want the baby dead. He wanted it hidden so he could control the Moretti trust when Luca died. Your mother was on his payroll, Emma. She was his mistress.”

My stomach violently heaved.

“You’re lying,” I choked out.

“Am I? Ask her about the bank account in Geneva. Ask her how she afforded your father’s medical care before he died. Enjoy your new family, Emma. Because when Luca finds out who your mother really is, he’ll kill her himself.”

The line went dead.

I dropped the phone.

I looked at the brass key to the vault Luca had given me.