The entire booth went still.

Dominic set down his scotch.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

His eyes never left my hand.

"What," he said, "do you think you're doing?"

"Correcting an error," I said.

"This word — *Abtretung* — you've translated it as 'transfer.' But in the context of the 1947 Trieste Protocol, it means 'surrender of claim.' Permanently.

Irrevocably." I tapped the circled word.

"Whoever signed this didn't transfer the assets, Mr.

Russo.

They gave them up forever."

Victoria's smile vanished.

Dominic stood up.

Not quickly — men like him never moved quickly in public.

But the calm was gone from his face.

"You need to walk away right now," he said quietly.

"And forget everything you think you heard."

"I don't think I heard it," I said.

"I understood it."

A man at the next table — one of Dominic's associates — reached slowly inside his jacket.

That's when the maître d' appeared at my shoulder.

"Miss Miller," he said, his voice tight.

"A phone call.

At the front desk.

The caller says it's about your mother."

My bl00d went cold.

I looked at Dominic.

He looked back at me with an expression I had never seen on anyone before.

Not anger.

Not embarrassment.

Something far worse.

---

What Casey found out at that front desk changed everything — and put her life in danger.

Click the link below to read the full story.