THE MAFIA KING'S SECRET BRIDE

I didn't leave with Lucian.

Not immediately.

I stood in the doorway of my father's study, blocking his view of the desk.

"You said I had forty-eight hours."

"I did."

"Now you're telling me to leave my house."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because someone entered this house while you were at the cemetery."

I glanced toward the hallway.

"You saw them?"

"No."

"Then how do you know?"

Lucian's jaw tightened.

"The lock on the back door was broken."

I hadn't noticed.

That scared me more than I wanted him to see.

I stepped back into the study.

"What was my father hiding?"

"I don't know."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to understand that I don't know everything."

That answer sounded different from the usual evasions I'd heard since my father's death.

Almost honest.

I picked up the photograph.

"My father knew Matteo."

Lucian's eyes settled on it.

"Yes."

"How?"

"He helped him."

"With what?"

Lucian didn't answer.

I moved closer.

"You knew my father."

"Yes."

"Did he trust you?"

A pause.

"More than he should have."

That wasn't the answer I expected.

Before I could press him, my phone vibrated.

Another unknown number.

Look under the floorboard beneath your father's desk.

I stared at the message.

Lucian noticed.

"What did they say?"

I showed him.

He immediately moved toward the desk.

"Wait."

He stopped.

"Why?"

"Because if someone is telling me where to look, maybe they want me to find something."

"Exactly."

I crouched beside the desk.

One floorboard looked slightly raised.

Lucian knelt beside me.

"Don't."

I looked at him.

"I can do it myself."

"I know."

He stood.

I lifted the board.

Nothing.

Only dust.

I laughed under my breath.

"Someone is playing games."

"Maybe."

I replaced the board.

Then I noticed something carved into the underside.

A number.

17.

The same number as the brass key.

I looked at Lucian.

He understood immediately.

"Your father didn't leave you the key by accident."

"Then where does it lead?"

"I know a place."

I stared at him.

"You're coming with me?"

"I don't think you should go alone."

"That's not an answer."

"No."

He walked toward the door.

"You shouldn't go alone."

I followed him because I wanted answers, not because I trusted him.

The place was an old storage building on the edge of the city.

There were seventeen numbered units inside.

Lucian unlocked number 17.

I stepped inside.

Dust covered the shelves.

Boxes filled the room.

My father's handwriting appeared on one.

A.V.

My initials.

I opened it.

Inside were childhood photographs.

School certificates.

A bracelet.

A faded yellow dress.

I touched the dress.

Something inside my chest tightened.

I remembered wearing it.

Not where.

Just the feeling of being held.

A man's voice laughing.

A woman's hand brushing my hair.

Then the memory disappeared.

Lucian watched me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I was remembering."

He didn't ask what.

Instead, he opened another box.

Inside was a newspaper clipping.

MATTEO MORETTI DEAD AT 21.

Beneath it was a handwritten sentence.

He didn't die because of the business.

I looked at Lucian.

"Did you write this?"

"No."

He picked up another paper.

His expression changed.

"What?"

He handed it to me.

It was a letter from my father.

Lucian,

If Matteo dies, don't let Amara near the Moretti family. She cannot know what happened that night.

My eyes moved to the next line.

She will remember eventually.

I looked up.

"What happened that night?"

Lucian stared at the letter.

"I don't know."

"You were there."

"I was eighteen."

"You remember nothing?"

"I remember a fire."

He looked at me.

"And I remember finding you."

My skin prickled.

"Where?"

"Outside a hospital."

I stared at him.

"What hospital?"

He didn't answer.

A noise came from outside.

Lucian immediately turned toward the door.

Someone had entered the building.

He motioned for me to stay quiet.

Footsteps approached.

Then stopped outside unit seventeen.

A shadow appeared beneath the door.

I held my breath.

The handle moved.

Once.

Twice.

Then the person walked away.

Lucian waited.

After several seconds, he opened the door.

Nobody was there.

Only a small envelope lay on the floor.

My name was written across it.

I opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

My father.

Matteo.

And me.

But this time, there was another person in the photograph.

A woman.

My mother.

I stared at her face.

I barely remembered it.

On the back, someone had written:

Ask your father why he said she was dead.

I looked at Lucian.

He had gone completely still.

"My mother died when I was six."

"I know."

"Then why is she standing beside my father in this photograph?"

Lucian looked at the date.

His face changed.

"This photograph was taken after her reported death."