The small living room spun violently. I gripped the edge of the sofa to keep from falling.

Vanessa Bellini killed my father?

“Ten years ago,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal cadence, “Vanessa was involved in a hit-and-run. Carlo covered it up. He told me it was a drunken homeless man who stepped into the street. I didn’t know it was your father, Claire. I swear to God, I didn't know.”

My mother let out a quiet, heartbroken wail from the couch, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Why would she leave her coat on our porch?” I asked, trying to push through the shock.

“Guilt,” Luca replied, his eyes dark with fury. “Or a warning. The Bellinis don’t leave evidence unless they want you to know you’re entirely untouchable. They wanted your family to know who did it, and that you could do nothing about it.”

He picked up the heavy velvet coat.

“Pack a bag,” he told my mother gently, his tone softening. “Both of you are coming back to the estate. It’s the only place I can guarantee your safety tonight.”

Within an hour, I had my mother settled into a secure guest room down the hall from Sophie’s bedroom.

The mansion felt completely different now. It wasn't just my workplace anymore. It was a fortress.

I walked into Sophie’s room to check on her. She was still fast asleep, the blue ribbon clutched against her cheek. I pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, kissed her forehead, and stepped out, leaving the door cracked.

Carrying the blue velvet coat, I walked to the end of the hallway to put it in the spare closet.

As I lifted it onto a hanger, I noticed a tear in the silk lining near the left pocket. It smelled faintly of lavender and old paper.

Curiosity overrode my fear. I reached two fingers inside the tear and felt a stiff square of paper hidden deep within the fabric.

I pulled it out into the dim hallway light.

It was a photograph, faded and bent at the corners.

It showed three women sitting on a porch, laughing.

I recognized a much younger Vanessa on the left. In the center was Sarah, smiling brightly.

But the third woman on the right made my blood run ice cold.

It was my mother.

They looked to be in their late twenties. My mother was holding a baby.

I flipped the photograph over. Written in faded blue ink were three words:

Keep her safe.

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked loudly behind me.

I spun around.

Vanessa Bellini was standing at the top of the grand staircase.

She had bypassed the front gate security. She was holding a silver lighter, opening and closing the lid with a rhythmic, terrifying click.

“You really should have minded your own business, Claire,” she said softly.

TITLE: The Declaration of War