The heavy mahogany study seemed to close in around me.

I stared at the faded Polaroid photograph taped to the journal page. My father, with his kind, tired eyes and the same terrible eyesight I had inherited, standing next to Isabella Moretti.

“They were working together?” I whispered, my mind rejecting the impossibility of it. My father was a quiet man who loved reading and gardening. He hated violence.

Answer one: My father wasn't a random victim. He was assassinated because he tried to help the mob boss’s wife escape.

“My mother tried to leave my father when I was nineteen,” Luca said, his voice tight. “She gathered evidence of his illegal operations. She was going to hand it over to the FBI in exchange for witness protection for her and my sister.”

“And your father found out,” Mrs. Carter added quietly.

Luca nodded. “He intercepted the files. But he couldn't find the backup copies. He spent years looking for them.”

He looked down at the photograph. “Your father was the courier, Megan. He was a civilian, completely off my father’s radar. Isabella trusted him to hide the evidence.”

Open two: If my father hid the evidence twenty years ago, where was it now? And why did Vanessa care about a twenty-year-old vendetta?

“This is insane,” Vanessa scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “Isabella was hallucinating from the morphine. She made up a wild conspiracy theory before she died.”

“It’s not a theory,” Luca said, glaring at her. “And it’s the real reason you were trying to get rid of Mrs. Carter. You weren't looking for the letter to protect yourself from me. You were looking for the evidence my mother wrote about in this journal.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened. She took another step backward, realizing the depth of Luca’s intelligence.

“You’re working for Uncle Silvio,” Luca continued, his voice dropping to a lethal, quiet register. “And Silvio was my father’s partner twenty years ago. If the FBI gets their hands on those old files, Silvio goes to prison for the rest of his life. And you lose your payday.”

Vanessa didn't try to deny it this time. She looked frantically at Daniel, standing near the door, hoping for a distraction.

“Where did your father hide the files, Megan?” Luca asked me, his voice urgent but gentle.

I shook my head, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes, stinging the cut on my cheek. “I don't know. He never told me anything. I was seventeen when he died. I just came home from school and the police were there.”

“Think,” Luca pressed gently. “Did he leave you anything? A key? A safety deposit box? A message?”

I closed my eyes, trying to force my panicked brain to remember the worstTITLE: "Because Vanessa said Mrs. Carter had found a letter your mother wrote about her. And if you read it before the wedding, there wouldn't be a wedding."