The explosion wasn't lethal, but it was blinding and deafening. A wall of heat and orange flame blasted into the room, scorching the Persian rugs and sending a shockwave that knocked Alessandra and her two guards off their feet.

In the chaos, I scrambled backward, slamming my hand against the wall panel and hitting the winch release for the chandelier.

Above us, the gears groaned. The massive crystal chandelier, weighing over five hundred pounds, dropped rapidly from the ceiling.

It didn't hit anyone, but it smashed into the grand mahogany table in the center of the room with the force of a bomb, sending thousand of razor-sharp crystal shards exploding like shrapnel.

The two guards screamed, covering their faces as the glass rained down.

Matteo moved like a predator unleashed.

Through the smoke and falling crystal, he crossed the room in two strides. Before the first guard could raise his rifle, Matteo drove the butt of his pistol into the man’s jaw, shattering it instantly.

The second guard blindly fired a burst into the ceiling. Matteo grabbed the barrel of the hot rifle, twisted it violently upward, and delivered a devastating knee strike to the man’s chest, dropping him to the floor.

It was over in three seconds.

I ran to Mrs. Romano, grabbing the handles of her wheelchair and pulling her back from the flames of the fireplace.

As the smoke began to clear, a sharp click echoed through the parlor.

Alessandra was on her knees, her pristine clothes covered in soot and blood from a shallow cut on her forehead. She had recovered her suppressed pistol and had it aimed directly at my chest.

"You stupid, pathetic little maid," Alessandra hissed, her finger tightening on the trigger. "You ruined everything."

Matteo froze, his own gun aimed at Alessandra. "Drop it, Alessandra. It’s over."

"No," Alessandra spat, her eyes wild with manic desperation. "I’m taking her with me."

I braced myself, closing my eyes.

Suddenly, a small, clear voice rang out from the doorway.

"Don't hurt Claire."

Alessandra flinched. She snapped her head toward the door.

Standing in the entryway, soaking wet from the rain, was Leo. He was holding his sketchbook in one hand. The gold pocket watch dangled from his wrist.

Matteo’s driver stood behind him, his gun drawn, having brought the boy inside when he heard the explosion.

Alessandra stared at her nephew. The boy she had locked away for two years. The physical proof of her ruined future.

"Leo," Alessandra whispered, the gun wavering in her hand.

"Aunt Alessandra is a bad person," Leo said simply, looking at her with large, unblinking eyes. "She pushed my daddy."

The sheer innocence of the accusation hit Alessandra harder than the explosion. Her hand began to shake violently. The facade of the elegant, calculated socialite completely crumbled, leaving only a broken, desperate woman who had destroyed her own family for money.

"I had to," Alessandra sobbed, tears cutting through the soot on her face. "He ruined us, Leo. He ruined our family."

"Put the gun down, Alessandra," Matteo commanded softly. "Don't do this in front of the boy."

Alessandra looked at Matteo, then at the ledger still resting on Mrs. Romano’s lap, and finally at me.

She slowly lowered the gun, dropping it onto the scorched Persian rug.

She buried her face in her hands and began to weep hysterically.

Matteo’s driver moved in quickly, securing her hands behind her back with zip ties.

The parlor was suddenly quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and Alessandra’s sobs.

Matteo holstered his weapon. He walked over to Leo, kneeling down so they were eye to eye. He didn't speak; he just pulled the little boy into a fierce, protective hug.

I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I turned to check on Mrs. Romano.

The elderly matriarch was staring at me. Her expression was unreadable.

"Claire," Mrs. Romano said softly.

"Are you hurt, ma’am?" I asked, checking her pulse.

"No," she said. She looked down at the ledger on her lap. She placed her shaking hand over the leather cover. "Your father, Claire. Thomas Miller."

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

"Alessandra lied about many things tonight," Mrs. Romano said, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. "But she did not lie about your father."

The air in my lungs vanished.

"I paid him, Claire," Mrs. Romano confessed, a tear dropping onto the leather book. "I went to him. He was desperate. His business was failing. His wife was sick. I offered him five hundred thousand dollars in cash to use inferior bolts on the balcony railing."

I stumbled backward as if I had been physically struck.

"No," I choked out, shaking my head. "No, my father wouldn't do that."

"He didn't know it was for a murder," she pleaded quickly, her voice cracking. "I told him it was an insurance scam. I told him nobody would be hurt. But he took the money, Claire. That’s why your family survived the recession. That’s how you paid for nursing school."

The world spun violently. My entire life, the sacrifices I thought my father had made, the pride I had in his honest work... it was all built on blood money.

I looked across the room.

Matteo was standing up, having heard his mother’s confession.

He was looking directly at me.