“And while they are looking the other way, we find that safe,” I said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, tarnished brass key.

“This opens the outer grate of the cellar,” he said, pressing it into my palm.

“But the safe itself is behind the loose bricks in the back room.”

The metal was cold against my skin.

“I will meet you down there at midnight, after the cleaning crew leaves,” he whispered.

I nodded and slipped the key into my apron pocket.

“Thank you, Mr. Alvarez.”

I walked out of the kitchen and back into the dining room.

The air in The Marigold Room was thick with the scent of garlic, rosemary, and expensive red wine.

At table four, Nico Romano sat with two of his associates.

He was cutting into a bone-in ribeye, his motions slow and deliberate.

His wife, Seraphina, sat opposite him, sipping sparkling water.

She caught my eye and smirked.

I swallowed my anger and walked straight toward their table.

Nico set his knife down as I approached.