THE PHOTOGRAPHS WEREN’T JUST A LIE—THEY WERE A TRAP, AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD PROVE IT.

The silence in the room was so deep I could hear the rain hitting the broken windowpane.

Luca slowly stood up. He looked at the silver locket in the little boy’s hands, and then he turned to look at my chest, where my identical locket rested against my collarbone.

His eyes darkened with immediate suspicion. “Sophie. Why does he have your necklace?”

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, stepping back. Panic seized my chest. “I swear to you, Mr. Moretti, I’ve never seen this child in my life.”

Leo stood up from the mattress. He was small for a six-year-old, frail and shivering in the oversized blue coat. He walked carefully toward me, holding the dented silver locket out like an offering.

“Nanny Clara gave it to me,” the boy whispered. “When the bad lady locked me in the dark. Nanny Clara said her daughter had the matching one, and if I ever found her, I would be safe.”

My breath hitched.

Clara.

My mother.

Tears immediately flooded my vision. I dropped to my knees in front of the boy, my hands shaking as I gently took the locket. I turned it over. Engraved on the back were the initials C.G. — Clara Grant.

“My mother was your nanny?” I asked, my voice breaking.

Leo nodded slowly. “She hid me in the closet when the car crashed. She told me to stay quiet. Then the bad lady came and took me.”

Luca’s rigid posture broke. The suspicion vanished, replaced by a horrifying realization.

“Three years ago,” Luca said, his voice hollow. “My sister’s car was run off the road. The police said the wreckage burned. They told me there was nothing left of Leo. But your mother…” He looked at me. “Your mother was in the car?”

“No,” I sobbed, the missing pieces of my own tragic life finally snapping together. “My mother was fired three years ago by a prominent family. She came home terrified. She packed our bags. But she died of a sudden heart attack two days later before we could leave.” I looked up at Luca, the sick truth washing over me. “It wasn’t a heart attack. Vanessa killed her to keep her quiet.”

Luca’s expression turned lethal.

He didn’t just look angry. He looked like a man who was about to burn the world down.

He stepped forward, gently scooping Leo up into his arms. The boy flinched at first, but when Luca wrapped his large coat around him, shielding him from the cold, Leo buried his face in his uncle’s shoulder.

“I’m going to get you home, Leo,” Luca whispered fiercely. “And then I’m going to end her.”

We hurried back to the SUV. I sat in the back with Leo, wrapping him in a blanket from the trunk. The boy clung to my hand, his small fingers cold but holding tight to the silver locket.

As Luca sped back toward Chicago, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a text from an unknown number.

I see you found the brat.

My blood turned to ice.

Another message appeared.

If Luca wants to keep him breathing, tell him to look in the glove compartment.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, panic raising my voice. “Vanessa. She just texted me.”

Luca slammed on the brakes, pulling the SUV hard onto the shoulder of the highway. He ripped open the glove compartment.

Inside was a single legal document, signed and notarized.

Luca read it by the dome light. His face went entirely pale.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a guardianship transfer,” Luca said, his voice barely a whisper. “Dated three years ago. Signed by my sister the day before she died.”