Z

Nicholas took the phone from me.

“Mother.”

Silence filled the line.

Then Isabella whispered, “Nico.”

I had heard her call him that a thousand times.

At Christmas dinners.

Family weddings.

Sunday lunches where Nicholas pretended not to enjoy her cooking while eating three servings.

Now the nickname sounded like something from another lifetime.

“Where are you?” Nicholas asked.

“I can't tell you.”

“You called my wife.”

“Because I thought you were dead.”

“You signed the death certificate.”

“I signed what Victor put in front of me.”

Nicholas closed his eyes briefly.

“Who came back?”

Another silence.

“Your father.”

Nicholas stopped breathing.

I stared at him.

His father, Antonio Moretti, had been dead for eighteen years.

Nicholas had been fourteen when it happened.

Everyone in Chicago knew the story.

Antonio Moretti had been shot outside Bellini’s Steakhouse after refusing to surrender territory to a rival family.

Nicholas had once told me he remembered his mother washing his father's blood from his shirt.

“That's impossible,” Nicholas said.

“So was your resurrection.”

“Where did you see him?”

“I didn't.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Victor has been receiving instructions from someone using Antonio’s old authentication code.”

Luca entered the room and froze.

Nicholas put the call on speaker.

Isabella continued.

“Three nights ago, Victor met someone at the old Moretti house in Lake Forest.”

“That property has been empty for years.”

“Not anymore.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I followed him.”

Nicholas’s expression sharpened.

“You followed Victor?”

“You've been dead for six months, Nico. Did you think I spent that entire time arranging flowers?”

I almost smiled.

Now I understood where Nicholas inherited his personality.

Isabella lowered her voice.

“I heard Victor call the man Antonio.”

Nicholas sank slowly into a chair.

It was the first time I had ever seen him shocked into stillness.

Luca muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

Nicholas looked at him.

“My father died in my arms.”

“No,” Isabella said.

“You weren't there.”

“I arrived before the ambulance.”

“You saw blood.”

“I saw what they wanted us to see.”

“You identified his body.”

“No.”

Nicholas frowned.

Isabella inhaled shakily.

“Victor did.”

The room went silent.

Nicholas’s entire childhood had just changed in one sentence.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“I'll contact you.”

“Mother—”

The call ended.

Nicholas stared at the phone.

I almost touched his shoulder.

My hand lifted.

Then stopped.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

“Do you believe her?” I asked.

“I don't know what I believe anymore.”

“Welcome to the club.”

His mouth tightened.

“Fair.”

Luca moved toward the desk.

“If Antonio is alive, this changes everything.”

“How?” I asked.

“Nicholas inherited control because Antonio died. If Antonio legally resurfaced—”

“He’d want his empire back,” I said.

Nicholas shook his head.

“No. If my father were alive, he wouldn’t need Victor to arrange any of this quietly. Half the old guard would return to him voluntarily.”

“Unless he can't come back publicly,” Luca said.

“Why?”

“Because he’s wanted for three federal murders.”

Nicholas gave him a look.

Luca shrugged.

“We all have family problems.”

I walked toward the window.

My mind returned to my father's photograph.

Antonio Moretti had known him.

Maybe better than Nicholas had admitted.

“Did your father know mine?”

Nicholas looked at me.

“Yes.”

“How well?”

“Very.”

I turned.

“How very?”

He hesitated.

“Your father wasn't just Victor’s accountant.”

Of course.

There was always another lie.

“What was he?”

“Antonio’s closest civilian adviser.”

I laughed without humor.

“A civilian adviser to the mafia.”

“He tried to pull my father toward legitimate businesses.”

“Did it work?”

“For a while.”

“And then?”

“Victor happened.”

Nicholas stood.

He walked toward me carefully.

“My father trusted Thomas Bennett more than he trusted his own brother.”

I swallowed.

“Then why was my father killed?”

“Because he discovered Victor was stealing from the organization and arranging killings without Antonio’s approval.”

“Did Antonio know Victor killed him?”

“I don't know.”

“Convenient.”

“Sofia.”

I looked away.

Nicholas lowered his voice.

“I deserve your anger.”

“At least we agree on something.”

“But if my father is alive, he may know where the original ledger is.”

“I don't care about the ledger.”

“I think you should.”

“Why?”

“Because whoever possesses it can destroy Victor.”

“And maybe half the city.”

“Yes.”

“Which is why everyone thinks my father gave it to me.”

“Yes.”

I thought about my childhood home.

After Dad died, Mom had sold almost everything.

Furniture.

Books.

His desk.

I had kept very little.

One old watch.

A box of letters.

A wooden music box he had given me when I turned thirteen.

My pulse changed.

Nicholas saw it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sofia.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you can see thoughts forming.”

“I usually can.”

“You're unbearable.”

“You married me.”

“I was young.”

“You were twenty-six.”

“Practically a child.”

For one second, the old rhythm returned.

Then I remembered the grave.

It vanished.

“The music box,” I said.

“What music box?”

“My father gave me one.”

Nicholas’s attention sharpened.

“It had a false bottom.”

“Did you ever open it?”

“No. Dad told me never to force it.”

“Where is it?”

“My old apartment.”

Nicholas immediately reached for his coat.

I stepped in front of him.

“No.”

“No?”

“You are not disappearing into another six-month operation because I mentioned a box.”

“Sofia.”

“We go together.”

“Absolutely not.”

I folded my arms.

“Then you don’t get the address.”

“You lived there when we met.”

“I've moved the box.”

“Where?”

I smiled sweetly.

“Some mysteries are healthy in a marriage.”

Luca coughed into his hand.

Nicholas glared at him.

For the first time since the cemetery, I felt something close to control.

It didn't last.

Twenty minutes later, another message arrived on my phone.

Unknown number.

There was no text.

Only a photograph.

My sister Emma leaving her office downtown.

Taken that morning.

Nicholas saw my face.

“What?”

I turned the screen toward him.

His expression went lethal.

Then a second message appeared.

BRING THE LEDGER TO LAKE FOREST.

My chest tightened.

A third message arrived.

COME WITHOUT NICHOLAS, OR YOUR SISTER JOINS YOUR HUSBAND'S EMPTY GRAVE.

Nicholas reached for the phone.

I pulled it away.

“No.”

“Sofia.”

“No more decisions for me.”

“This isn't a decision.”

“It is exactly a decision.”

“They threatened Emma.”

“My sister.”

“My family.”

“You don't get to claim everyone I love after lying to me.”

His eyes flashed.

“And you don't get to walk into a trap because you're angry at me.”

“I won't.”

“Then what are you saying?”

I looked at the photograph.

Then at my supposedly dead husband.

Then at Luca.

“I’m saying Victor thinks he’s dealing with a grieving widow.”

Nicholas watched me carefully.

“He is.”

I shook my head.

“No.”

I slipped my phone into my pocket.

“He’s dealing with Mrs. Nicholas Moretti.”

And judging by my husband's expression, Nicholas couldn't decide whether to be proud or terrified.