“PLAY THAT PIANO, AND I'LL MARRY YOU!” THE RUTHLESS MAFIA BOSS CHALLENGED 300 WEALTHY GUESTS—BUT WHEN HIS CURVY MAID PLAYED THE IMPOSSIBLE CONCERTO, HER BILLIONAIRE EX-FIANCÉ TURNED PALE, AND THE DARK SECRET BEHIND HER FATHER'S DEATH LEFT EVERYONE SPEECHLESS...

The morning after the gala, I woke to the sound of piano keys in my dream.

I was back in Dad's workshop. Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows. He sat beside the Sparrow, smiling as he counted the opening measures of our lullaby. I reached for his hand, but before our fingers touched, a stranger slammed the shop door and the music stopped.

I opened my eyes with a gasp.

The guest room at the Voss mansion was quiet. Margaret had insisted I stay after the gala because reporters were waiting outside my apartment. Cassian had offered the room, then left the decision to me. I had accepted for one night. Now I lay beneath a quilt that smelled faintly of lavender, staring at a ceiling painted with tiny golden stars.

My phone displayed twelve missed calls from an unknown number. A new message appeared while I watched.

YOUR FATHER HAD A CHOICE. SO DO YOU.

I sat up. Another message followed.

BRING THE ORIGINAL RECORDING TO NORTHSTAR WAREHOUSE AT MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE.

I stared at the words. Northstar. The name meant nothing to me, but it clearly meant something to whoever had sent the message. I took a screenshot and sent it to Cassian. Within minutes, he knocked on my door.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

He entered carrying coffee and a plate of toast. His black shirt was rolled to the elbows, exposing the serpent tattoo that curled around his wrist. He looked as though he hadn't slept.

“You saw the messages?” I asked.

“Yes. Marco is tracing the number.”

“Do you know Northstar Warehouse?”

Cassian set down the tray. “It's an old shipping property near the waterfront. My father used it before I took control of the company.”

My stomach tightened. “So Rourke wants me there.”

“Perhaps. But you aren't going.”

I looked up sharply. “Don't decide that for me.”

He exhaled. “You're right. I should have said that going alone would be dangerous. I won't help you walk into an ambush.”

I studied him. “What if they have more evidence?”

“Then we obtain it without handing them the original.”

I looked at the coffee. “I'm tired of being afraid.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He sat opposite me. “When I was twenty, my mother died after a long illness. My father told me grief was weakness. I spent years believing that if I became powerful enough, nothing could hurt me again.”

I looked at him. “Did it work?”

“No.” He smiled sadly. “It just made me lonely.”

For a moment, I saw the young man beneath the mafia boss. He wasn't asking me to pity him. He was trying to tell me that fear didn't disappear merely because somebody owned guards and armored cars.

I reached across the table and touched his hand. “You don't have to be lonely forever.”

His fingers closed gently around mine. “Neither do you.”

We sat quietly until a knock sounded. Marco entered with a folder and a tablet.

“The hospital records are here,” he said. “And the cassette restoration is complete.”

My heart jumped. “There's more on the tape?”

Marco nodded. “The first digital transfer captured only part of the recording. The specialist recovered an additional section from the damaged end.”

Cassian looked at me. “Would you like to hear it now?”

I took a breath. “Yes.”

We went to the private office. Marco connected the tablet to the speakers. Static hissed, then my father's voice filled the room again.

“Helena, I found the second set of invoices. The hospital payments weren't donations. They were instructions. Patients were being removed from lists to pressure families into surrendering assets and signatures. My treatment application was flagged after I questioned the records.”

I covered my mouth.

A woman's voice answered. “Arthur, you have to tell the authorities.”

“I've tried. Every time I contact someone, Rourke knows within hours. I don't know who to trust.”

“Then take Elena and leave.”

“I can't. Julian has the savings. He says he'll return them if I hand over the recording.”

My hands began trembling.

There was a long pause. Then Dad spoke again, quieter.

“Ellie, if you ever hear this, I'm sorry. I should have told you about the fraud sooner. I thought I could protect you by keeping you out of it. I was wrong. None of this is your fault. You were the brightest part of my life, and every note you play is a gift I never deserved.”

I began crying. His voice was tired but warm, exactly as I remembered.

“I know you think you have to be strong all the time,” he continued. “You don't. Ask for help. Let people love you. And finish your music, sweetheart. Not for me. For yourself.”

A scraping sound interrupted him. Footsteps approached. Dad whispered, “Someone's here.”

The recording crackled. A door opened.

A man's voice spoke. “Arthur. We've been patient.”

Silas Rourke.

Dad answered, “I've given you nothing.”

“Then we'll take what we need.”

A struggle followed. I heard a chair fall and Dad gasp. Then the older voice of Augustus Voss spoke from somewhere near the doorway.

“Enough, Silas. I said bring him to me, not hurt him.”

Cassian went rigid.

Rourke replied, “He won't cooperate.”

Augustus answered, “Then make sure he can't interfere. And keep the girl out of it.”

The tape ended in a burst of static.

I stared at the speakers. The first recording had made it sound as though Augustus ordered Dad's death. This recovered section complicated the story. He had ordered Dad silenced, but he had also told Rourke not to hurt him. That didn't make him innocent. It meant there were decisions and betrayals still hidden between the words.

Cassian pressed his palms against the desk. “My father gave the order to stop Arthur. Rourke decided how.”

“Or someone else did,” Marco said.

I turned. “What do you mean?”

Marco opened the hospital file. “The payment removing Arthur from the treatment waiting list was authorized using Augustus's credentials, but the transaction was entered from an office terminal assigned to Rourke. The signature was digital, not handwritten.”

Cassian's jaw tightened. “He may have acted without my father's knowledge.”

“Or with it,” I said.

Cassian met my eyes. “Yes. We can't rule that out.”

I appreciated that he didn't try to defend his father. Still, I felt a cold ache. Dad had been fighting for treatment while powerful men treated his life like a bargaining chip.

Marco continued. “There's another name in the audit log. A secondary approval came from the account of Evelyn Voss.”

Cassian froze.

“Who is Evelyn?” I asked.

“My aunt,” he said. “My father's younger sister. She oversees several family trusts.”

I frowned. “Was she involved with Northbridge?”

Cassian stared at the screen. “She told me she had nothing to do with it.”

Marco opened a second file. “The same approval code appears on payments to Hale Maritime Services. And on a consulting contract signed by Vivian Ashcroft's father.”

My stomach twisted. “So everyone was connected.”

“Not everyone,” Cassian said. “But more people than we realized.”

He reached for his phone. “I want Evelyn here.”

Marco hesitated. “Boss, she's already downstairs.”

We all turned.

“She arrived twenty minutes ago,” Marco said. “She claims she came to discuss the gala.”

Cassian's expression became unreadable. “Bring her to the drawing room.”

Evelyn Voss was sixty-two, elegant, silver-haired, and dressed in a cream suit that looked expensive without being flashy. She rose from a velvet sofa when we entered. Her smile was warm, almost maternal.

“Cassian, darling.” She kissed his cheek. “The newspapers are dreadful. I came as soon as I could.”

Cassian didn't smile. “Aunt Evelyn, this is Elena Marlow.”

Evelyn's gaze moved toward me. For a fraction of a second, her expression changed. Then she extended her hand.

“Of course. The pianist. Your performance was lovely.”

I shook her hand. Her fingers were cold.

“Thank you,” I said.

Cassian remained standing. “We need to ask you about Northbridge Cultural Holdings.”

Evelyn's smile faded. “That old foundation? I thought it closed years ago.”

“You approved payments through the Voss Heritage Trust.”

“I approved hundreds of payments. Your father handled the details.”

“Did you approve a transfer connected to Arthur Marlow's hospital account?”

Her eyes flickered toward me. “I don't recall.”

Cassian placed a document on the table. “Your authorization code is here.”

Evelyn studied it. “Codes can be misused.”

“Then help us find out who used yours.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “You are making a terrible mistake, Cassian. Digging into the past will only damage the family.”

“My father's actions already damaged the family.”

Evelyn's face tightened. “You have no idea what he sacrificed to build this empire.”

I spoke before I could stop myself. “My father sacrificed his health trying to keep his family alive. Nobody gave him a choice.”

Evelyn turned toward me. Her eyes sharpened. “Miss Marlow, there are things you don't understand.”

“Then explain them.”

She looked at Cassian. “Are you going to allow a maid to interrogate me in my own family's home?”

Cassian's voice was calm. “Elena is here because the records concern her father. You can answer the question or speak through your attorney.”

Evelyn rose. “Then I choose my attorney.”

She walked toward the door, but stopped beside me. Her perfume smelled of lilies. She leaned close enough that only I could hear.

“Your father should have left the music alone.”

I went cold.

“What did you say?”

Evelyn straightened. “I said good evening.”

She left before I could respond.

I turned to Cassian. “She knew.”

He looked toward the doorway. “What did she say?”

I repeated her words. His expression darkened.

Marco was already calling the security desk. “Keep an eye on her vehicle. Do not interfere without a lawful reason. I want the arrival and departure footage preserved.”

Cassian stared at the hospital report. “She was the one who managed the trusts after my mother died. I trusted her.”

I remembered Julian. “I know how that feels.”

He looked at me, and for a moment neither of us needed to say anything more.

That afternoon, Cassian's attorney arrived with an investigator who had no connection to the Voss family. We handed over copies of the recordings, financial records, letters, and photographs. I signed a statement describing what I knew. Cassian signed his own. It felt strange to watch a mafia boss voluntarily place evidence in the hands of people who might investigate his family's businesses, but he did it without hesitation.

When the meeting ended, I found him on the terrace overlooking the gardens. The roses were beginning to bloom. He stood with his hands resting on the stone railing.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He gave a humorless laugh. “I'm beginning to wonder whether anything I believed about my family was true.”

I stood beside him. “You believed what people told you.”

“That doesn't excuse what I failed to see.”

“No. But you can choose what you do now.”

He turned toward me. “You make it sound simple.”

“It isn't.” I smiled sadly. “I spent four years thinking the only way to honor Dad was to suffer for him. Now I'm trying to learn something different.”

“What?”

“To live.”

Cassian's expression softened. He lifted one hand toward my cheek, then stopped, asking permission with his eyes. I nodded. His fingers brushed away a tear.

“Elena,” he said quietly, “I don't know what happens when this is over. But I know I want you to have your music, your shop, and a life you chose.”

I looked up at him. “And what do you want?”

He hesitated. “A chance to become someone worthy of standing beside you.”

My heart ached. I leaned forward and kissed him.

It was gentle and brief, more promise than possession. When I pulled back, he looked stunned.

“That was my choice,” I whispered.

He smiled. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

For a few precious seconds, the world seemed quiet. Then Marco's voice came through Cassian's phone.

“Boss, we found Rourke.”

Cassian answered immediately. “Where?”

“Northstar Warehouse. He met with two men an hour ago. One of them was Julian Hale.”

I felt my stomach drop.

“And the other?” Cassian asked.

Marco hesitated. “Evelyn Voss.”

Cassian closed his eyes. When he opened them, his expression was cold.

“Get the footage to the investigators. Nobody moves until we know who else is involved.”

I touched his arm. “Cassian?”

He looked at me. “I'm here.”

My phone vibrated. Another unknown message. This time it contained a photograph taken moments earlier: Cassian and me kissing on the terrace. Beneath it were four words.

HE CAN'T PROTECT YOU.

I showed him. He went still.

Then a second image arrived. It showed the gate of the old Marlow music shop. A man stood beneath the sign, holding a red gasoline can. His face was hidden by a hood.

I couldn't breathe. “They're going to burn it.”

Cassian was already calling security and the police. “Get emergency services to the shop. Now.”

We watched the screen, waiting for another message. Instead, my phone rang.

I answered with shaking hands. “Hello?”

A man's voice spoke, rough and amused.

“Beautiful performance, Elena. Your father was almost as talented.”

“Rourke?” I whispered.

He laughed. “You remember my name. Good.”

“Leave the shop alone.”

“Then bring me what Arthur hid. The full ledger, not the little recordings you've found.”

“I don't have it.”

“Ask your piano teacher. Ask your new lover. Ask the dead man who built that house.”

The line crackled. Then Rourke added, “Midnight. Northstar. Come with the evidence, or the next fire won't be an empty building.”

The call ended.

Cassian took my trembling hand. “We're not doing this his way.”

I looked toward the gardens, where the roses moved in the evening wind. My father's letter rested in my pocket. Finish what you begin.

For the first time, I understood that the story wasn't only about the money Julian stole. It was about a network of powerful people who had used charities, hospitals, and music programs to hide crimes—and who were willing to destroy anyone who threatened them.

Cassian called Marco back. “Secure Elena. Alert the investigators. We need a lawful plan for Northstar.”

I looked at him. “And if they won't wait?”

His gray eyes met mine. “Then we protect the living first. We can fight for the truth afterward.”

At that moment, another call came through. Marco answered on speaker, and his voice changed.

“Boss. The shop is safe. Firefighters reached it before anything caught. But there's something else.”

“What?”

“The man with the gasoline can was caught on camera. We enhanced the image from the street security system.”

Cassian's face hardened. “Who is he?”

Marco paused.

“Julian Hale.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth. My former fiancé had stolen my father's money, helped bury his secrets, and now stood ready to destroy the last place that held his memory.

Cassian looked toward the darkening sky. “Then Julian has just given us the evidence we need to stop him.”

But as he spoke, I saw the look in his eyes. He was thinking about Northstar Warehouse, about Rourke, and about the aunt who had raised him after his mother's death.