THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME WIPE SPILLED SOUP FROM HIS 81-YEAR-OLD FATHER'S DINNER JACKET—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE KNOCKED THE BOWL OVER HIMSELF,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE OLD MAN WAS SITTING ALONE AT THE END OF THE TABLE

Gabriel didn't shout.

He didn't throw the photograph.

He simply stared at the image of the man who shared his eyes.

Then he looked at Isabella.

The silence in the dining room was absolute. Twenty-six guests held their breath.

Isabella took another step backward, her emerald gown catching the chandelier’s light.

“Gabriel,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me.” Gabriel’s tone was terrifyingly calm.

“Yes.” Her eyes darted toward the armed security guard blocking the double doors. “Your father’s mind is failing. He doesn’t understand—”

“He understands perfectly.” Gabriel stood. He walked slowly toward her. “You found my mother’s letter. You found out my brother Leo survived the crash eighteen years ago. And instead of telling me, you tracked him down.”

Isabella swallowed hard. “He’s dangerous, Gabriel. He’s not the boy you remember.”

“So you decided to pay him off?”

“Not him.”

Gabriel stopped. “Then who?”

Before she could answer, Mr. Vincent gripped my wrist again. His breathing was harsh, rattling in his chest.

I quickly poured a fresh glass of water. “Mr. Romano, please, take a sip.”

He ignored the water. Instead, his shaking fingers fumbled with the buttons of his clean dinner jacket.

He pulled something from his inner pocket and pressed it into my palm.

It was heavy. Cold.

A silver pocket watch.

I looked down at it, then at him.

He tapped the back of the watch twice.

Gabriel turned around. He saw his father’s gesture and stepped back to the head of the table.

“Dad, what is that?”

Mr. Vincent pointed at my hand.

Isabella suddenly lunged forward. “Don’t let her open it! Gabriel, she’s manipulating him!”

Anthony caught her arm before she reached me.

“Open it, Claire,” Gabriel said.

My hands were shaking. I found the small latch on the side of the antique watch and pressed it.

The back cover clicked open.

There was no clock face inside. It had been hollowed out.

Tucked inside the silver casing was a small, worn piece of blue cardboard.

I carefully pulled it out.

It was a baggage claim ticket from Grand Central Terminal.

And stamped across the top was a date.

Not from eighteen years ago.

From yesterday.

Gabriel stared at the ticket.

Then he looked at the photograph of his brother again.

“Anthony,” Gabriel commanded, never taking his eyes off the ticket. “Take Isabella to the study. Do not let her leave. Do not let her make a phone call.”

“Gabriel, please!” Isabella cried out as Anthony guided her toward the doors. “You don’t know what you’re doing! If you go to that station, he’ll kill you!”

Gabriel didn’t answer.

The doors closed behind her, cutting off her voice.

The guests sat in stunned silence.

Gabriel turned to his uncle, Marcus, who was sitting halfway down the table.

“Uncle Marcus. Send everyone home.”

Marcus nodded slowly, his face pale. “Of course, Gabriel.”

Within minutes, the dining room was empty, save for Gabriel, Mr. Vincent, and myself.

I began clearing the plates, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed this job. My mother’s medical bills were due on Monday. I couldn’t afford to be caught in a mafia family’s crossfire.

“Leave the dishes, Claire.”

I froze. “Sir?”

“My father trusts you.” Gabriel stepped closer. “He gave you the note. He gave you the watch. Why?”

“I don’t know, sir. I only help him with his meals.”

Gabriel studied my face. “My father doesn’t trust easily. Neither do I.”

He took the baggage claim ticket from my hand.

Then he looked at his father.

“Dad, is Leo’s location in this locker?”

Mr. Vincent nodded weakly.

Gabriel pocketed the ticket. “I’m going to the station.”

Mr. Vincent suddenly grabbed Gabriel’s sleeve. He shook his head violently.

He pointed at Gabriel. Then he pointed at me.

“You want Claire to go with me?” Gabriel asked, frowning.

Mr. Vincent nodded.

“Sir,” I said quickly, taking a step back. “I’m just a housemaid. I shouldn’t—”

“Claire,” Gabriel interrupted. His voice softened, just a fraction. “If my father wants you there, there is a reason. I will pay you triple your monthly salary just for tonight.”

I thought of my mother. The hospital bills. The eviction warning.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Okay.”

Gabriel gestured toward the door. “Get your coat.”

Ten minutes later, we were in the back of Gabriel’s black SUV, speeding through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan.

The silence in the car was suffocating.

Gabriel kept turning the silver pocket watch over in his hands.

“My mother gave him this watch on their twentieth anniversary,” he murmured.

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet.

“She died three days later.” Gabriel looked out the window. “A car crash. My brother was in the passenger seat. The police said the car burned completely. No survivors.”

He looked down at the ticket. “Someone lied.”

We pulled up to Grand Central. The station was mostly empty at this hour.

Gabriel led the way to the long rows of metal storage lockers in the lower concourse.

He checked the number on the ticket.

Locker 412.

He inserted the blue ticket into the slot. The metal door clicked and popped open.

Inside sat a small, battered leather briefcase.

Gabriel pulled it out and set it on a nearby bench.

He unclasped the brass locks.

I braced myself, expecting stacks of cash. Or maybe weapons.

But as the lid opened, I saw neither.

Instead, lying on top of a stack of medical files, was a child’s winter coat.