A Little Girl Made Me Laugh for the First Time Since My Wife Died—Then She Pointed at the Locked Room and Said, “The Pretty Lady Told Me.”

Dante stared at the illuminated screen. His mind rejected the impossible text even as his pulse pounded in his temples.

"A glitch," Dante said coldly. "Or someone hacked the mainframe."

"Our security grid is air-gapped," Marco replied, his jaw tight. "Nobody hacks this estate from the outside. If someone used Carmela’s code, they pulled it from her personal files or—"

"Or someone in this house is playing games with a dead woman’s memory," Dante growled. He slipped the sealed letter into his inside vest pocket. "Put two men outside Carmela's door. Sweep every corridor. Check the perimeter cameras from last night."

As Marco turned to bark orders to the guards, Dante headed toward the staff wing. His instincts, honed by fifteen years of syndicate warfare, told him the truth was closer to the ground.

Down in the lower quarters, the air was warm and smelled of laundry soap. Dante moved silently down the narrow hallway until he reached room 104.

He raised his hand to knock, but the door creaked open under his knuckle. It wasn't latched.

Dante stepped inside.

The bed was stripped. Sophia’s pink dresses were missing from the small wardrobe. A small overnight bag sat packed on the center table, and beside it stood Rosa, frantically shoving clothes into a duffel bag.

Dante leaned against the doorframe, his shadow swallowing the room. "Going somewhere, Rosa?"

Rosa spun around, gasping. She dropped a baby blanket, her hands flying to her chest. "Mr. Falcone! I... I was just..."

"Packing," Dante said smoothly. "At nine o'clock at night. After your daughter claims to have seen my dead wife."

Rosa backed against the dresser, her eyes darting toward the tiny adjoining bathroom where Sophia was fast asleep. "I’m scared, sir. Strange things are happening in this house. Sophia is just a baby. I can't have her involved in... whatever this is."

"You’ve worked here for four months," Dante said, stepping closer. The sheer size of him made the modest room feel suffocating. "You came with clean references from an agency in Oak Park. But you pack like someone who knows how to run."

Dante reached out and grabbed the zipper of Rosa's leather purse sitting on the dresser.

"Don't touch that!" Rosa cried, lunging forward.

Dante caught her wrist with effortless precision, his grip firm but careful not to hurt her. With his other hand, he dumped the contents of the purse onto the table.

Car keys, a lipstick, a driver's license.

And a heavy, antique gold locket shaped like an ivy leaf.

Dante’s breath caught in his throat. He released Rosa's wrist and picked up the locket. His thumb found the worn silver hinge. He snapped it open.