REMOVE THAT EMPTY CHAIR! I'M NOT HAVING YOUR MOTHER SET A PLACE FOR A DEAD PERSON AT MY ENGAGEMENT DINNER!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 80-YEAR-OLD MOTHER IN FRONT OF 36 GUESTS—BUT WHEN THE OLD WOMAN WHISPERED, “I PROMISED HIM I'D KEEP HIS SEAT,” VINCENT ROMANO SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS GLASS. AND WHAT HIS MOTHER REVEALED NEXT MADE HIM STARE AT A MAN SITTING ACROSS THE TABLE -

Chapter 10 – THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE SNOW

The phone almost slipped from my fingers.

I stared at the screen, my blood turning to ice.

Ask Nico what he did with your father.

My father had died in a hit-and-run car accident ten years ago. It was a closed case. A tragic accident on a snowy road in Ohio.

I turned back to look at the mansion. Nico was standing on the porch, waving goodbye.

I didn’t get in the car.

I marched straight back up the steps. Nico’s smile faded as he saw the look on my face.

“Emily? Did you forget something?”

I shoved my phone into his chest. “Read it.”

Nico looked at the text message. For a second, his face remained impassive. Then, his eyes widened, and the color drained from his cheeks.

“Nico,” I said, my voice trembling with rage. “What does she mean?”

Vincent stepped out of the front door, sensing the tension. “What’s going on?”

Nico handed the phone to Vincent, but he couldn’t look at me. He stared down at the stone steps.

“Emily,” Nico started, his voice barely a whisper. “Ten years ago, when I first started working as a cleaner for the syndicate… I was sent to Ohio to silence a whistleblower.”

My stomach dropped. “My father was an accountant.”

Nico nodded slowly. “He had found discrepancies in a shipping company’s books. A company owned by Paulie. I was told he was a threat.”

“You killed my father?” I screamed, tears streaming down my face.

Vincent grabbed Nico by the collar. “Tell me you didn’t do this!”

“I didn’t!” Nico shouted, tears pooling in his own eyes. “I didn’t kill him, Emily! I couldn’t do it!”

Nico reached into his wallet with trembling hands. He pulled out a worn, folded photograph and held it out to me.

It was a picture of my father. But he looked older. Greyer. He was standing on a beach, smiling.

“I was supposed to run his car off the road,” Nico explained frantically. “But when I broke into your house to plant the evidence… I saw you. You were seventeen. You were asleep on the couch holding his hand. It reminded me of me and Vincent.”

I stared at the photograph. It was dated last year.

“I staged the crash,” Nico said. “I got a body from the morgue, matched the dental records through a corrupt coroner, and burned the car. I gave your father a new identity and enough money to disappear. I told him if he ever contacted you, the syndicate would kill you both.”

I fell to my knees on the porch, sobbing uncontrollably.

“He’s alive,” I choked out. “My dad is alive.”

Nico dropped to his knees beside me. “I am so sorry I took him from you. I was trying to save his life. Bianca must have found the old files when she was digging into my past.”

Vincent knelt down and wrapped his arms around both of us.

“Where is he, Nico?” Vincent asked. “Where is her father?”

Nico looked at me, a soft, hopeful smile breaking through his tears.

“He’s in Florida,” Nico said. “And I think it’s time you go get him.”