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 3 – THE DRAWING IN THE DARK

Panic erupted in the dining room.

Vincent grabbed Thomas by the lapels of his suit. “What did you say? Where is Leo?”

“Upstairs in his playroom,” Thomas said, not flinching. “At least, he was twenty minutes ago.”

Rose screamed. I didn’t think, I just ran.

I knew the mansion layout better than anyone. Little Leo was only seven. His mother had passed away when he was a baby, and since then, he spent most evenings drawing in the east wing while Vincent handled business.

I threw off my serving apron and sprinted up the grand staircase.

“Emily, wait!” one of the guards shouted, but I didn’t care.

I remembered my own father, how he always made sure I was safe before he went to sleep. Leo didn’t have a mother, and his father’s world was bathed in blood.

I reached the east wing hallway. The lights were out.

That was wrong. Leo was afraid of the dark.

I crept down the carpeted hall, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Leo?” I whispered.

Silence.

I reached the playroom door. It was slightly ajar. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the floor.

Lying on the carpet was Leo’s favorite stuffed bear.

And a heavy, black leather glove.

I pushed the door open. The room was empty. The window was wide open, the cold October wind blowing the curtains wildly.

Footsteps thundered behind me. Vincent, Thomas, and three armed guards burst into the hallway.

Vincent saw the open window and dropped to his knees. A sound came out of him—a raw, animalistic cry of pure agony that chilled me to the bone.

“They took him,” Vincent gasped. “Arthur’s men.”

“It wasn’t Arthur,” Thomas said quietly from the doorway.

Vincent snapped his head up. “What?”

Thomas walked into the room and picked up the black leather glove. He turned it over.

Embroidered on the inside of the wrist was a small, red rose.

Thomas looked at Vincent, his eyes filled with a complicated sorrow. “Arthur was a greedy fool. But he didn’t have the power to organize a hit inside your house. Only someone on the inside could do that.”

Vincent stood up slowly. “Who?”

Thomas handed the glove to Vincent.

“The same person who paid the men to kidnap me thirty-seven years ago, Vincent. Arthur didn’t pay them.”

Thomas looked past Vincent, straight out the open window into the dark.

“Our father did.”

Vincent froze. “My father is dead. He died of a heart attack ten years ago.”

Thomas reached into his jacket again and pulled out a silver rosary.

“I pulled this off the man who was watching your son’s window tonight,” Thomas said.

Vincent stared at the rosary. His face went entirely slack.

“That’s…” Vincent whispered. “That’s Uncle Paulie’s.”

Thomas nodded. “Your father didn’t die ten years ago, Vincent. Paulie faked his death. And now, they’ve taken your son to finish what they started.”