Chapter 9 – THE ENGRAVING ON THE LOCKET

I stared at the small, intricate engraving on the back of the silver locket.

An intertwined circle and a star.

The tea cup slipped from my fingers, shattering against the kitchen tiles. Hot water splashed across my shoes, but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything except the sudden, violent hammering of my heart.

“Claire?” Luca asked, immediately stepping back, his hands raised in concern. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“Where did you get this?” I choked out, clutching the locket so tightly the edges bit into my palm.

Luca frowned, confused by my sudden panic.

“I told you, it belonged to Caroline. It was a family heirloom passed down from her grandfather.”

“Her grandfather,” I repeated, my blood turning to ice.

Twenty years ago, when I was seven years old, a man had broken into our tiny apartment in the middle of the night. He had shot my father in the chest and left him to die on the living room floor. The police said it was a random robbery.

But I remembered the man’s wrist. I remembered the tattoo.

The circle and the star.

“Claire, talk to me,” Luca demanded softly, stepping closer. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Caroline’s maiden name,” I whispered, looking up into his eyes. “What was it?”

Luca hesitated, sensing the gravity of the question.

“Romano,” he answered. “She was the granddaughter of Vincenzo Romano. The founder of the New York Commission.”

The room spun.

I grabbed the edge of the granite counter to steady myself.

My mother hadn’t just been an accountant for Carlo Bellini. She had been hiding from the Romanos.

“Claire, what is it?”

Before I could answer, the heavy oak doors of the kitchen swung open.

Luca’s head of security, a massive, scarred man named Dante, stood in the doorway. He looked pale.

“Boss,” Dante said, his voice tense. “We have a problem at the front gate.”

Luca’s protective instincts instantly flared. He stepped in front of me. “The Bellinis are finished, Dante. Who is it?”

“It’s not the Bellinis,” Dante swallowed hard. “It’s three black SUVs. New York plates. The men inside are demanding to speak with the maid.”

Luca froze.

He turned slowly to look at me.

“Why is the New York Commission asking for you, Claire?”

I pulled the silver locket from my neck and dropped it onto the counter.

“Because,” I whispered, tears of terror finally spilling over my eyelashes. “The money my mother stole from the Bellinis? She didn’t keep it. She gave it to Vincenzo Romano to pay off a blood debt. And I think they just realized it’s missing.”

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