Chapter 1 – THE EMPTY LAKE HOUSE

“Not what, Eleanor,” Richard whispered, his voice trembling in a way that made my blood run cold. “Who.”

I stared at the man who had controlled the Chicago underworld for two decades.

He wasn’t a man who felt fear. He was the man who caused it. But right now, his hands were gripping the edge of the restaurant table so hard his knuckles were white.

“Who is at the lake house, Richard?” I demanded.

He couldn’t look at me. “Three days ago, I got a threat from the Valenti family. They said they were going to make me bleed where it hurt most. I didn’t trust my own security detail.”

My heart stopped. “Richard.”

“I sent our daughter and Mia to the lake house,” he choked out. “I told them it was a private vacation. I thought they would be safe there until I handled the threat.”

The air left my lungs.

My daughter, Sarah. And my six-year-old granddaughter, Mia.

“You told Camille where they were?” I asked, my voice rising in panic.

“She asked why I was so stressed yesterday,” Richard pleaded, standing up. “I told her I was worried about the girls at the lake house. Ellie, I swear to God, I didn’t think she would use them.”

“I never said I was going alone.”

Camille’s text message flashed in my mind like a neon warning sign. She hadn’t just walked away from my husband. She had walked away to take the only things I cared about.

“Give me the keys,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Eleanor, let my men handle this—”

“Give me the damn keys, Richard!”

It was the first time in thirty-three years I had ever screamed at him. He didn’t argue. He dropped the car keys into my palm.

The drive to the lake house took forty minutes. We did it in twenty-five.

The rain was coming down in sheets, slashing against the windshield of the Mercedes. Richard was on his phone the entire time, screaming at his security chief to mobilize every man they had.

But I knew in my gut it was already too late.

We tore up the gravel driveway. The old wooden house sat in total darkness. There were no lights on inside.

Richard kicked the front door open, his hand reaching for the weapon strapped beneath his sweater.

“Sarah!” he roared into the dark house. “Mia!”

Silence.

I ran past him, flicking on the hallway lights.

The living room was destroyed.

The coffee table was shattered. The heavy bookshelves had been pulled down. A lamp lay broken on the rug. There had been a violent struggle.

“Sarah!” I screamed, running toward the back bedrooms.

I pushed open the door to the master bedroom.

The bed was empty. But lying on the floor, near the window, was my daughter’s phone. The screen was cracked.

“Richard!” I cried, falling to my knees to pick it up.

He rushed in, his chest heaving. When he saw the phone, his face drained of all color.

“They’re gone,” I whispered, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. “She took them. Your mistress took our family.”

Richard dropped to his knees beside me. He reached out to hold me, but I shoved his hands away.

“Don’t touch me,” I sobbed. “You brought this woman into our lives. You did this.”

He covered his face with his hands, a broken sob escaping his chest. The powerful mafia boss was entirely shattered.

But as I looked down at the floorboards, something caught the light.

It was half-hidden under the edge of the bed frame.

I reached out with trembling fingers and pulled it free.

It wasn’t a piece of broken glass. It was a heavy, silver pocket watch.

I stared at it, the breath leaving my body.

“Richard,” I whispered. “Look at this.”

He lowered his hands and looked at the watch. His eyes widened in absolute horror.

“Answer me right now,” I demanded, holding the watch up to his face. “Whose watch is this?”

Richard’s voice was barely a breath.

“It belongs to the man I killed ten years ago.”

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