[COMPLETED] “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DRESS! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD SEAMSTRESS, AND I WON’T HAVE YOUR MAID HELPING YOU EMBARRASS ME!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD HOUSEKEEPER FOR PROTECTING A 76-YEAR-OLD WOMAN AT THE ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN THE WOMAN TOUCHED THE RED SILK AND WHISPERED, “I SEWED THAT FOR SOMEONE ELSE,” LUCA MORETTI SLOWLY STOOD UP.

"First, ask her why Michael canceled that wedding the week before he died."

Margaret's hand was still wrapped around Luca's when she said it.

Vanessa didn't move.

Neither did I.

Thirty-eight guests sat beneath the crystal chandeliers, watching a woman in a red gown stare at the man she was supposed to marry.

Luca looked from Margaret to Vanessa.

"Were you engaged to Michael?"

Vanessa pressed her lips together.

"Luca, please. Not in front of everyone."

"Were you?"

"Yes."

The word was so small I almost missed it.

Luca stepped away from her. His chair scraped against the polished floor.

"You told me you never met him."

"I knew him a long time ago. It was complicated."

"You said you'd never met my wife, either."

Vanessa looked down at the sleeve Margaret had touched.

"I never met Catherine properly."

Margaret's fingers closed around mine. I could feel how cold they were.

"She brought me this very dress," Margaret said. "She chose those flowers herself."

Vanessa lifted her chin.

"Michael and I were going to marry. The dress was meant for me. How is that a crime?"

"Then why did you say a designer made it in Milan?" Luca asked.

Vanessa didn't answer.

At the far side of the table, Teresa Moretti, Luca's elderly aunt, set down her glass. Her face had gone pale.

"Luca," she said, "perhaps the guests should leave."

For once, nobody argued.

Luca asked his staff to arrange cars. He spoke softly, but every instruction was heard. The evening's music stopped. People pushed back their chairs without looking at one another.

I helped Margaret to the chair Luca had offered her. She sat with one hand against her chest, breathing carefully.

I wanted to bring her water. I wanted to be invisible again.

But I was the only person besides Vanessa who knew what had happened to Catherine's cedar chest the previous day.

When the last guests reached the foyer, Luca returned to the table.

"Tell me about Michael."

Vanessa's eyes flashed.

"He changed his mind. That's what happened. A week before the wedding, he ended it. Then he died. I spent years trying to put that behind me."

"And you came into this house and told me you'd never known him."

"I was afraid you'd judge me."

"You let me believe you had no connection to my family."

Her voice rose.

"I loved you, Luca. Whatever happened with Michael was over."

Margaret shook her head.

"Michael went to see Catherine after he called off the wedding. He was terribly upset."

Luca turned.

"He went to Catherine?"

"She told me only that he'd found something he couldn't forgive. She wanted to give him time to tell you himself."

Vanessa stared at Margaret.

"You're remembering conversations from four years ago."

"I remember the look on Catherine's face."

Margaret's voice was barely above a whisper.

"And I remember how frightened she became later."

Luca put one hand on the back of a chair. His silver watch caught the light.

"You said the dress had been made when Sophie was six months old. Michael's wedding was years later."

Margaret nodded.

"Catherine began it early. Michael and Vanessa spoke of getting married for years. It wasn't finished, and after the wedding was canceled, Catherine kept it. She couldn't bear to throw away something she'd made with such hope."

I looked at the red gown again.

Vanessa had told everyone that a private designer had created it just for her last spring.

Now the only part of that story that seemed true was that she'd once expected to wear it.

"Why did Catherine alter the sleeves afterward?" Luca asked.

Margaret swallowed.

"She was afraid someone had been going into her bedroom. She asked me to leave an unfinished blue stitch inside the left cuff. I made a pair of tiny blue stitches inside the right. We agreed that if she learned who was entering her room, she'd remove one stitch from the pair. It was a quiet signal, in case she couldn't speak freely."

Luca stared at her.

"You knew she was frightened. Why didn't you come to me?"

"Because Catherine told me she'd spoken to you about going to her sister. I believed you knew enough to keep her safe."

His face changed in a way that hurt to watch.

"She never said a word to me."

Margaret bowed her head.

"Then someone made sure you didn't hear her."

Vanessa moved toward the doors.

"I'm leaving. I won't stand here and be accused by people who hate me."

Luca didn't block her.

"You can leave. But I want the dress kept here until Margaret and my lawyer have examined it."

"It's mine."

"You say it was made for you. Margaret says Catherine kept it. There may be something of my wife's inside the lining."

Vanessa looked down at the gown.

I saw her thumb run over the seam, almost without thinking.

Then she said she would change into something from her guest room and leave the dress behind. She made Luca promise there would be no photographs sent to the papers.

He agreed to protect the family's privacy, not to hide evidence.

I followed Margaret into the corridor while Vanessa went upstairs.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"No, sweetheart. But I will be."

She caught my hand.

"Did you empty Catherine's chest?"

"Not all of it. Vanessa asked me yesterday, but I couldn't throw away the things Sophie had begged me to keep. I put some of them in the linen closet until I could ask Mr. Moretti."

Margaret's eyes sharpened.

"What things?"

"Letters. A little box. Some folded papers. I didn't read them."

"Where are they now?"

"Still in the closet."

Luca appeared in the doorway behind us.

He'd heard my answer.

"Hannah, take me there."

I hesitated.

"Mr. Moretti, Vanessa told me to clear the chest. I wasn't trying to disobey."

"You don't have to apologize for keeping my daughter's mother's things safe."

The words brought unexpected tears to my eyes.

We went upstairs together, Margaret moving slowly between us. The master bedroom was quiet. The cedar chest sat beside Luca's wardrobe, exactly where it had stood the previous afternoon.

But its lid was open.

Inside, the velvet lining had been disturbed. A pale rectangle marked the spot where a box had once rested.

"It was closed when I last saw it," I whispered.

Luca knelt beside the chest.

On the bottom lay a single pale-blue thread caught beneath a brass hinge.

Margaret bent as far as she could and stared.

"That's the thread I used."

Luca didn't touch it. He photographed the hinge and called his attorney, asking for someone to document the room before anything else was moved.

Then I remembered the small pile I'd saved in the linen closet.

We found the letters and folded papers where I'd placed them.

But the little box was gone.