THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME KNEEL BESIDE HIS 85-YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER AS SHE STRUGGLED TO BREATHE DURING HIS ENGAGEMENT TOAST—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE'S ONLY PRETENDING TO BE SICK,” BEFORE LUCA FOUND THE OLD WOMAN'S EMERGENCY MEDICATION LOCKED INSIDE HIS BRIDE'S HANDBAG.

The rain had tapered off into a heavy, suffocating mist by the time the unmarked black sedan dropped me off two blocks away from the Moretti estate. I walked the final stretch on foot, cutting through the dense, dripping hedges of the southern garden until I reached the discreet service entrance used by the catering staff.

The titanium earpiece buzzed faintly in my ear, a constant, low-frequency hum reminding me that Luca was listening to every step I took.

*“Status?”* His voice whispered directly into my mind, deep and steady.

*“Entering the service corridor now,”* I murmured back, keeping my voice barely above a breath. *“Mrs. Bell should be waiting by the pantry.”*

True to her word, the elderly housekeeper was standing by the heavy oak pantry doors, wringing her hands in her apron. When she saw me step out of the shadows, she rushed forward, her eyes wide with terror.

“Oh, thank God, Miss Ward,” Mrs. Bell whispered frantically. “The police left hours ago, but two men—strangers, not our usual security—came through the front gates asking about Madame Rosa’s private chambers. I told them her suite was locked and sealed by Mr. Moretti, but they looked... they looked violent.”

“Which way did they go?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“They went up the grand staircase toward the east wing,” she replied, grabbing my arm. “Miss Elena, you shouldn't be here. It’s not safe.”

“I have to be, Mrs. Bell. Did anyone touch Rosa’s personal music box on her vanity?”

“No,” she shook her head. “The door to her sitting room has a biometric lock. Only Madame Rosa, Mr. Luca, and I have the override code.”

“Give it to me. Quickly.”

With trembling fingers, Mrs. Bell punched a rapid six-digit code into the digital keypad beside the service lift. The heavy metal door clicked open with a soft, pneumatic hiss.

*“Elena,”* Luca’s voice cracked sharply through the earpiece. *“Marco just reported two unassigned operatives breaching the perimeter on the east side. Get out of there now.”*

*“No,”* I whispered back, stepping into the lift. *“They’re heading for Rosa’s sitting room right now. If I don't get to the music box first, whatever she hid in there is gone.”*

Before Luca could argue, I slammed the button for the third floor.

The lift rose silently through the heart of the darkened mansion. When the doors slid open, I stepped out into the carpeted hallway of the family wing. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old polish, but underneath it lay an eerie, unnatural stillness.

I crept down the corridor toward Rosa’s private suite. The heavy mahogany double doors were slightly ajar. A faint sliver of golden light spilled out onto the dark Persian rug.

Someone was already inside.

I pressed my back against the wall beside the door frame, holding my breath. Inside the suite, I heard the distinct sound of wood splintering, followed by a low curse.

“It’s not in the desk,” a gruff voice muttered. “Check the armoire.”

“Boss said she hid it near the bed,” a second voice replied.

I slowly reached up, my finger hovering over the comms button to signal Luca, when my foot brushed against a loose floorboard. A soft *creak* echoed down the hallway.

Inside the room, the voices abruptly stopped.

Heavy footsteps approached the door. I panicked, darting backward and slipping inside an open linen closet directly across the corridor, pulling the slatted door shut just as the heavy oak doors of the suite swung wide open.

Through the narrow wooden slats, I watched two men in dark tactical gear step out into the hallway. They scanned left and right, their flashlights cutting sharp beams through the dim corridor.

“Thought I heard something,” one of them grunted.

“Just the old house settling. Come on, Vincent wants this swept in ten minutes before Luca’s security team realizes the perimeter sensors were tripped.”

They turned down toward the service stairs and disappeared around the corner.

I let out a long, shaky breath, sliding open the closet door and slipping silently across the threshold into Rosa’s suite. The room had been systematically torn apart—pillows slashed, drawers dumped onto the floor, porcelain trinkets smashed to pieces.

I rushed past the wreckage straight toward the antique mahogany vanity in the corner. The velvet-lined music box Rosa had mentioned so many times sat in the center of the shattered glass cosmetics.

I grabbed it. The brass latch was forced, but the secret compartment beneath the wind-up mechanism was still intact. I pressed my thumb against the hidden wooden spring.

*Click.*

The small bottom panel popped open. Inside lay a single, weathered leather-bound journal and a heavy brass skeleton key.