« The ring that should have buried with him. when a waitress served chicago’s most feared mob boss, a single name opened a forgotten grave. »

“It’s mine.”

“No.”

He rose slowly.

Leonardo Falcone was taller than she had realized. Up close, the thin white scar through his left eyebrow made his eyes seem even colder.

“That ring belonged to a dead man.”

Clara stared at him.

“A man who was betrayed,” he continued, “and butchered off the coast of Italy five years ago.”

Her heart gave a violent beat.

“That’s impossible.”

“If you took it from him—”