Luca’s voice didn’t echo in the grand dining room.

It didn’t need to.

The absolute silence from the thirty guests made his words sound like a gunshot.

“Why did you try to remove my daughter from her own home?”

Vanessa stepped back.

Her red silk gown suddenly looked less like royalty and more like a target.

“Luca, be reasonable,” she whispered, glancing at the wealthy guests. “We can discuss this in private.”

“We are discussing it now.”

Emily stood frozen, still clutching the tiny onesie.

I stood slightly behind her, close enough to catch her if the stress became too much. I noticed something nobody else did.

Vanessa’s hands were shaking.

Not with fear. With panic.

She was gripping her expensive silver evening bag so tightly her knuckles were white.

“The property management company made a mistake,” Vanessa lied smoothly. “I only asked them to appraise the neighborhood. They must have drafted that notice by accident.”

Emily shook her head.

“The men who came weren’t appraisers.”

Luca’s eyes darkened. “Who were they?”

“They wore dark suits. And they knew my mother’s name.” Emily’s voice trembled. “They said if I didn’t hand over the key to her locked cabinet, they would come back when I was alone.”

Luca’s jaw clenched.

He turned to his lead security guard, Marco, who was already reaching for his earpiece.

“Lock down the Maple Street house,” Luca ordered. “Now.”

Vanessa swallowed hard. “Luca, she’s pregnant and emotional. She’s misunderstanding—”

“Mrs. Bellini,” I said.

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Luca turned to me.

Vanessa’s eyes flashed with pure venom. “You are a maid, Claire. Shut your mouth.”

“What is it, Claire?” Luca asked. His tone was surprisingly gentle.

I pointed at Vanessa’s hands.

“If it was just a mistake with the property company, why are you trying to hide what’s in your purse?”

Vanessa flinched.

Luca didn’t ask twice.

He extended his hand. “Give it to me.”

“It’s just my lipstick,” she stammered.

“Give it to me, Vanessa.”

She slowly unclasped the silver

bag.

Luca reached inside.

He didn’t pull out a phone, or documents, or keys.

He pulled out a heavy, intricately woven gold bracelet.

Emily gasped.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“That’s Mom’s,” she whispered.

Luca stared at the gold mesh. His breathing stopped.

I knew about that bracelet. Emily had worn it the day I first met her, telling me her father had it custom-made in Italy for her mother’s tenth anniversary. It was supposed to be in a safe deposit box.

“How did you get this?” Luca’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it terrified me more than if he had yelled.

Vanessa took another step back. “I… I found it.”

“Where?”

“In the master bedroom. Here. In the mansion.”

Emily stepped forward, her maternal instinct replacing her fear.

“You’re lying. I locked that bracelet inside Mom’s cabinet in the basement three weeks ago.”

The room spun.

If the bracelet was in the cabinet three weeks ago, and Vanessa had it now…

“You already broke into the cabinet,” Luca said, the realization hitting

him like a physical blow.

Vanessa shook her head rapidly. “No! I swear, Luca, I haven’t been to that house!”

“Then who opened it?” Luca demanded.

Vanessa looked terrified. Not of Luca. Of someone else.

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered.

Luca signaled Marco. “Call the police. Have her escorted off my property.”

“Wait!” Vanessa screamed.

She looked frantically around the room, finally locking eyes with Luca.

“If you throw me out, he’ll kill me.”

Luca stepped closer. “Who?”

Vanessa’s gaze flickered to the head of the dining table.

To Luca’s oldest friend and underboss, a man who had bounced Emily on his knee as a child.

“Ask Marcus,” she cried. “He’s the one who gave me the bracelet.”

Every eye in the dining room snapped to Marcus.

He sat at the head of the table, his silver hair perfectly combed, his tailored suit immaculate.

He didn’t look panicked.

He looked annoyed.

“Vanessa is hysterical,” Marcus said calmly, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin. “She’s trying

to drag me down to save herself.”

Luca didn’t move. He held the gold bracelet in his fist.

“Is she?”

Marcus stood up slowly. “Luca, we’ve been brothers for thirty years. I stood up at your wedding. I helped carry your wife’s casket. You think I care about an old piece of jewelry?”

Emily was shaking.

I put my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me, her hand resting heavily on her pregnant belly.

“Dad,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

Luca’s expression softened for a fraction of a second when he looked at his daughter.

Then it turned to stone as he looked back at Marcus.

“Marco,” Luca said to his head of security. “Take Emily to my private study. Claire, stay with her. Lock the door.”

I nodded, guiding Emily away from the dining room.

As we walked down the grand hallway, the heavy oak doors shut behind us, muffling the sudden explosion of shouting.

The study was quiet, smelling of expensive leather and old paper.

I locked the door and

helped Emily onto the plush sofa.

She was pale, her breathing shallow.

“Are you okay?” I asked, pouring her a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. “Is the baby okay?”

“He’s kicking,” she managed a weak smile. “I think he hates shouting.”

“Here.” I handed her the water.

She took a sip, but her hands were trembling so badly water spilled onto her wool coat.

She reached into her coat pocket for a tissue.

Instead, she pulled out a worn, folded photograph.

She stared at it, her brow furrowing.

“This isn’t mine,” she said.

I sat beside her. “What is it?”

She unfolded the photo.

It was old, the edges yellowed.

It showed Emily’s mother, young and beautiful, standing in front of the Maple Street house.

But she wasn’t standing with Luca.

She was standing next to Marcus.

And Marcus had his arm wrapped securely around her waist, looking at her with a level of intimacy that made my stomach turn.

“Why was this in your pocket?” I asked.

Emily looked horrified. “When Vanessa

grabbed my coat earlier… she pushed it against my chest. She must have slipped this into the pocket.”

I stared at the picture.

Vanessa hadn’t just been trying to kick Emily out.

She had been trying to smuggle this photograph out of the mansion using Emily as a blind courier.

Before we could process it, the study door rattled violently.

Someone was trying the handle.

“Marco?” I called out.

No answer.

Then came a heavy, deliberate shoulder ram against the wood.

Emily grabbed my arm.

The door hinges groaned, wood splintering near the lock.

I looked around frantically and grabbed a heavy bronze bookend from Luca’s desk.

The door burst open.

It wasn’t Marco.

It was one of the men who had been sitting next to Marcus at the dining table.

He stepped inside, locking the broken door behind him.

He looked at the photograph in Emily’s hand.

“Mr. Marcus would like that back,” he said, pulling a silenced pistol from his jacket.

I didn't think. I just

reacted.

I threw the heavy bronze bookend with everything I had.

It struck the man squarely in the shoulder.

He grunted, stumbling backward, the silenced pistol dropping to the Persian rug.

I lunged for it, but he was faster, kicking the gun out of the way and grabbing me by the hair.

“Claire!” Emily screamed.

He threw me to the floor. My vision blurred.

He turned his attention to Emily, stepping toward the pregnant woman cowering on the sofa.

“Hand over the picture, sweetheart,” he sneered.

Suddenly, a deafening crack shattered the study’s silence.

The man froze, his eyes widening in shock.

He collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward onto the floor.

Behind him stood Luca, breathing heavily, a smoking revolver in his hand. Marco was right behind him.