She grunted, then walked toward her vanity table.

I heard the scrape of a drawer opening, followed by the clatter of small glass bottles.

My heart hammered against my ribs so loudly I was certain she would hear it.

I looked down at my hand.

I slowly uncurled my fingers in the dim light filtering through the crack.

The paper in my palm was a thick, cream-colored cardstock.

Written on it in precise, black ink was a sequence of numbers: 10-24-09.

Below the numbers were two letters: *S. D.*

My mind raced.

*S. D.*

Silvio DeLuca.

Matteo’s uncle, the man who sat at the right hand of the family syndicate.

The floorboards groaned as Mrs. Higgins moved closer to the wardrobe.

I froze, pressing myself as flat as possible against the back wall.

A long, silver key she held in her hand caught the light.

She didn’t open the wardrobe.

Instead, she reached for a heavy winter coat hanging on a peg beside it.

Her hand brushed the outer wood of my hiding place, sending a vibration straight through my spine.

“Foolish girl,” she muttered to herself.