THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS FIANCÉE FORCE ME TO APOLOGIZE TO TWENTY-EIGHT GUESTS—THEN SHE SAID, “SHE BROKE THE KITCHEN WINDOW,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THERE WAS BLOOD ON MY APRON.

Is the chef dead yet?

The words burned into my retinas. The sterile, fluorescent lights of the locker room seemed to hum louder, amplifying the terrifying reality of what I was reading.

Vanessa hadn’t just fired Robert. She hadn’t just locked him out.

She had ordered a hit on a sixty-two-year-old man who had baked Luca’s birthday cakes since he was a teenager, simply because he had asked too many questions.

A choked sob escaped my throat. “Robert… oh my god. She killed him.”

“Do not panic,” Luca commanded, though the rigid tension in his shoulders betrayed his own rising fury. “Daniel, track this burner phone’s GPS history. Find out where it’s been in the last forty-eight hours. I want to know exactly who sent this message.”

Daniel nodded sharply. “I’m on it, Boss.”

“And Daniel?” Luca added, his voice turning into ice. “Do not let Vanessa leave the dining room. If she tries to exit the house, detain her.”

“Understood.” Daniel turned and sprinted out of the room.

Luca looked back down at the burner phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. He was staring at the first part of the text message.

I have the watch.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, trying to steady my trembling hands. “What watch are they talking about?”

Luca didn’t answer immediately. He walked over to the small wooden bench in the center of the locker room and sat down heavily. The powerful mafia boss suddenly looked incredibly weary, like a man carrying the weight of a ghost.

“When my father died twelve years ago,” Luca began, his voice strangely hollow, “he left a very complicated legacy. But he only cared about one physical possession. A solid gold pocket watch, engraved with the Moretti family crest. He told me it was the key to our bloodline.”

I frowned, taking a tentative step closer. “Who has it now?”

Luca looked up at me, his dark eyes filled with a pain I wasn’t supposed to see.

“Nobody,” Luca whispered. “I buried it with him.”

A chill ran violently down my spine. “You mean…”

“If my brother sent this text to Vanessa,” Luca said, his fists clenching on his knees, “it means he didn’t just come back to Chicago to demand money. He went to the family mausoleum. He dug up our father’s grave.”

The sheer desecration of it left me speechless. I was a maid. I cleaned floors, folded laundry, and worried about rent. The dark, violent world of the Chicago mafia was something I actively tried to ignore, even while working in its epicenter.

But now, I was standing in a basement locker room, untangling a grave-robbing conspiracy.

“Why?” I asked. “Why would he dig it up? A gold watch is valuable, but your brother is demanding half an empire. Why risk getting caught for a piece of jewelry?”

Luca stood up, the weariness vanishing, replaced by a sharp, calculating predator.

“Because of what is inside the watch,” Luca said. “My father was paranoid. He kept a microfilm list of every offshore bank account, every corrupt politician, and every buried secret our family owned packed inside the back casing of that watch. If my brother has it, he doesn’t just get half the money. He gets the leverage to take the entire city.”

My heart pounded. “And he’s giving it to Vanessa.”

“She’s the inside woman,” Luca realized, pacing the small room. “She gets him into the estate, she helps him bypass my security, and in exchange, they eliminate me together.”

Suddenly, the burner phone in Luca’s hand buzzed again.

Another text.

I left the package in your purse. Make sure Luca signs the papers tonight.

Luca stopped pacing. He looked toward the ceiling, directly toward the grand drawing room where Vanessa was currently entertaining his guests.

“She has a package from him,” Luca said softly. “In her purse.”

He looked at me. “Sophie. You’re the only person in this house she ignores. She treats you like furniture.”

“Mr. Moretti, no,” I pleaded, instantly knowing what he was going to ask. “If she catches me touching her things, she’ll ruin my mother’s life. She knows about my debts!”

Luca closed the distance between us. He didn’t touch me, but his presence was entirely overwhelming.

“I will pay your mother’s mortgage tomorrow morning,” Luca said, his voice firm, leaving absolutely no room for doubt. “I will pay your rent for the next five years. You will never have to fear Vanessa Bellini again. But I need you to go upstairs, find her purse, and tell me what is inside it.”

I stared into his dark eyes. He wasn’t threatening me. He was offering me freedom.

“Okay,” I whispered.

I left the locker room, my knees shaking, and climbed the service stairs to the first floor.

The drawing room was loud with laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses. I grabbed an empty silver tray and kept my head down, slipping into the room like a ghost.

Vanessa was standing near the fireplace, laughing loudly at a joke, her back turned to the plush velvet sofas.

Sitting on the edge of the furthest sofa was her designer clutch purse.

I moved slowly, pretending to collect empty champagne flutes. My bandaged arm throbbed, a sharp reminder of what Vanessa was capable of.

I reached the sofa. I checked over my shoulder. Vanessa was distracted.

With trembling fingers, I popped the gold clasp of her purse.

I didn’t find a weapon. I didn’t find drugs.

Folded neatly between her lipstick and a compact mirror was a crumpled piece of paper.

I slipped it out, opening it carefully under the shadow of my silver tray.

It wasn’t a legal document. It wasn’t a hit list.

It was a child’s drawing.

A stick-figure drawing of a woman with red hair, holding the hand of a little boy. Written in clumsy, colorful crayon across the top were the words: To Mommy.