THEY CALLED ME A LYING PREGNANT MAID—UNTIL THE MAFIA BOSS FOUND HIS DEAD BROTHER’S RING AND A SECRET BABY TRAFFICKING FILE

The police found the blue-heron mural in a suburb west of Chicago. It had been painted on the wall of a community arts center five years earlier. The little girl in Nora's photograph had attended a children's event there, but the center's records were incomplete.

Detective Sarah Kim, who had taken over the investigation, told us not to approach families or circulate the child's image publicly. An innocent child could be hurt by a mistake. Nora agreed, though the effort it cost her showed in her hands.

Meanwhile, Anthony had uncovered a second problem. Matteo's crash report described a truck crossing the center line, but the trucking company had dissolved two weeks after the accident. The driver's listed address belonged to an empty lot.

I felt the room tilt. “You think Matteo was murdered.”

“We don't know,” Detective Kim said. “We have enough inconsistencies to reopen the investigation.”

I remembered Matteo's last morning. He had burned toast and laughed when I told him the smoke alarm was better at cooking than he was. Before leaving, he kissed my forehead twice. The second kiss had been longer, almost reluctant.

“Call me when you get there,” I had said.

“I will, Em.”

He never did.

The detective asked about his route that day. I told her he had planned to meet someone downtown. Then I remembered an old voicemail saved on my phone, one I could never bring myself to delete. In it, Matteo said he would be late because he had to stop at a parking garage on Wacker Drive.

Kim asked me to send a copy. I did. The garage matched the location in the photograph from the brown envelope.

Later that evening, Leonardo sat with me in the mansion's small library. I had chosen to return there only after the household staff had been informed of what happened and my room had been moved away from the servants' wing. He had offered a separate apartment instead; I wanted time to decide.

“I owe you more than an apology,” he said.

“You owe Matteo the truth.”

He nodded. “And you deserve choices. You can leave whenever you want. I'll still help you protect the baby and recover what belongs to you.”

I believed he meant it. That frightened me almost as much as the thought of trusting him.

Anthony arrived with a recovered email Matteo had sent to a secure account. The subject line read: IF THE ACCIDENT HAPPENS. It contained the registration number of a truck and a warning that Richard had arranged a meeting with a man called Daniel Voss.

The same man who had threatened me after the funeral.

The email also contained one final line: LEO MUST NOT TRUST THE GARAGE CAMERA FOOTAGE.

Detective Kim requested the original electronic evidence. By midnight, investigators had confirmed the truck's registration had been altered in the official report. It was not proof of murder, but it was proof that someone had changed the story.

I stood beside the window, looking at the first snow of the season.

“Matteo knew,” I whispered.

Leonardo stood a respectful distance away. “He suspected. He was trying to leave us enough to prove it.”

My baby kicked beneath my hand. I thought of the tiny gold ring and the words Matteo had once said at the courthouse: You're stuck with me now.

He had meant forever.

Someone else had decided forever would be three months.

When Detective Kim called again, her voice was grave. Daniel Voss had been found alive and taken into custody on an unrelated warrant. He had offered to talk.

But only if he could speak to me.

I looked at Leonardo. For the first time since the engagement dinner, I did not ask him what I should do.

I asked for a lawyer and a detective to be present.