Clare entered the mansion of a mafia boss with only eleven dollars in her bank account and an eviction notice folded inside her purse. Waiting for her were his three uncontrollable eight-year-old triplets—the boys who had already driven twenty-two nannies away within their first forty-eight hours. Clare had no idea that before she could change those boys, she would have to stand up to the most dangerous man in Connecticut and make a demand no one had ever dared make to his face.

The blood belonged to no one currently living in the house.

That was what Dante told Matteo after the police technician completed a preliminary test.

Old blood.

At least three years old.

Possibly Elena’s.

The police were called, but Matteo’s connections ensured they came quietly and asked few questions. The Ricci estate had a way of making public matters private.

By evening, the triplets had been moved into a guarded suite near Matteo’s office.

Rosie and I stayed with them.

I made grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen because apparently even mafia children could be calmed by melted cheese and tomato soup.

Leo ate three sandwiches.

Asher ate one and complained the crusts were “aggressively crunchy.”

Nico barely touched his.

Rosie climbed onto the chair beside him.

“Are you sad?” she asked.

“No.”

“You look sad.”

“I look normal.”

“You look medium sad.”

Nico looked at her.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

It was small.

But it was the first real laugh I had heard from him.

Later that night, Matteo asked to speak with me in his office.

The room was darker than usual. Rain pressed against the windows, turning the estate grounds into a black blur.

On his desk lay a plastic evidence bag.

Inside was a silver pendant.

A small gold charm shaped like a star.

“Was this Elena’s?” I asked.

Matteo nodded.

“She wore it every day.”

“Where was it found?”

“Inside the tunnel.”

“And the blood?”

“We’re waiting for DNA confirmation.”

I looked at the pendant.

“She left something behind.”

“She may have been injured.”

“Or someone wanted you to think she was.”

Matteo’s eyes lifted to mine.

“You think she’s alive.”

“I think a woman who loves her children enough to create an escape route would not disappear willingly.”

“She could have been taken.”

“Then we find out who took her.”

His expression sharpened.

“You speak as though this is simple.”

“No. I speak as someone who knows children deserve answers.”

Matteo looked toward the closed office door.

“The night Elena disappeared, Victor accused me of betraying the family. He wanted control of my businesses. My contacts. My money.”

“And Elena?”

“She found documents. Accounts Victor used to move money through shell companies. She wanted to go to the police.”

“Did you stop her?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

I waited.

Matteo’s voice dropped. “I told her the police could not protect her. I told her I would handle it.”

“And did you?”

“I was too late.”

There it was.

The guilt beneath the armor.

“What happened to Victor?”

“He vanished the same night Elena did.”

“That seems convenient.”

“It was not convenient.”

Before I could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

Dante entered holding a torn piece of paper.

“We found this behind a loose stone in the tunnel.”

Matteo took it.

His face changed.

“What is it?” I asked.

He handed it to me.

The handwriting was shaky but readable.

Matteo, if you find this, do not trust Henry. Victor has people inside the house. I am trying to get back to the boys. Tell them I never left them. — Elena

My heart stopped.

Henry.

The man who had interviewed me.

The man who knew every room in the mansion.

The man who had been standing beside Matteo for years.

Then a gunshot echoed from the hallway.

Dante spun toward the door.

“Protect the children,” Matteo ordered.

But I was already running.

Because Rosie was with the triplets.