THE INK ON THE PAPER WAS STILL WET

“Ask him why his father gave him that locket. Ask him who you really are.”

The line went dead.

The cold alley suddenly felt devoid of oxygen.

I looked up at Luca.

He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek, one hand still gripping his injured ribs.

Matteo ran to his father, burying his face in Luca’s coat.

But my eyes stayed locked on Luca.

“What did she mean?” I whispered.

Luca stared at me. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked completely lost for words.

“Let’s get in the car,” Luca finally said. “We need to get off the street before Dominic wakes up.”

I didn’t move.

I reached to my chest and pulled the silver locket from beneath my shirt.

“Your father’s journal,” I said, my voice trembling. “It said, ‘You must find the Dawson girl. She is the only one who can unlock the rest.’”

Luca closed his eyes.

“Claire, please. Not here.”

“Here,” I demanded. “Right now. Or I’m walking away.”

Luca let out a heavy breath. He looked down at Matteo, then back to me.

“Nine years ago,” Luca began softly, “my father discovered that the Bellini family was stealing from the union funds. Millions of dollars. He gathered the evidence to take them down. But before he could hand it over to the feds, they found out.”

“They killed him,” I realized.

Luca nodded. “It looked like a heart attack. But I always knew it wasn’t. The night he died, he gave me the key to the garage floorboard. He told me the evidence was hidden, and I needed to keep the garage safe until the time was right.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” I pleaded.

Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the identical silver locket that had fallen from the journal.

He stepped closer and opened it.

Inside wasn't a picture.

It was a tiny, intricately cut brass key.

“This is one half of a safety deposit key,” Luca said.

He reached out and gently took my locket from my hands.

With a soft click, he popped mine open.

Inside was the other half of the exact same brass key.

I gasped. “My mother gave this to me before she died. She said she got it from my father. But… my father died in a car crash when I was a baby.”

Luca shook his head slowly.

“Your father didn’t die in a car crash, Claire.”

The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

“His name was Thomas Dawson,” Luca said gently. “He was my father’s accountant. He was the one who found the missing money. He was the one who built the case against the Bellinis.”

Tears prickled my eyes. “He… he worked for the mafia?”

“He worked for my dad,” Luca corrected. “And they were best friends. When the Bellinis found out, they went after Thomas first. My dad tried to save him. He hid the files, split the safety deposit key into two lockets, and gave one to your mother, telling her to run.”

I couldn't speak.

My whole life—my quiet, lonely life—was built on a lie.

I hadn’t found the Craigslist ad for a housekeeping job at the Moretti mansion by accident.

“You knew,” I whispered, stepping back. “You knew who I was when you hired me.”

“No,” Luca said quickly. “I swear to you, Claire. I didn’t know. I never saw a picture of you. I only knew your last name. When you applied for the job, I hired you because I thought… I hoped… maybe it was fate.”

“Fate?” I scoffed, hot tears spilling down my cheeks. “You kept this from me for a year!”

“I wanted to protect you!” Luca pleaded. “If the Bellinis knew who you were, they would kill you. Just like they killed your father.”

Matteo tugged on my apron.

“Claire?” the boy whimpered. “Are you mad at Dad?”

I looked down at the twelve-year-old boy.

My heart broke.

Before I could answer, a bright spotlight hit us from the street.

Two police cruisers pulled up, sirens wailing.

But they didn’t stop at the curb. They blocked us in.