THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME CARRY A HEAVY SOUP TRAY PRESSED AGAINST MY HIP—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HER HAND GOT CAUGHT IN THE LINEN CLOSET,” BEFORE HE HAD ASKED WHY I COULDN’T HOLD IT NORMALLY.** I almost made it to the table. Six more steps.

The revelation echoed in the freezing study like a gunshot.

Julian.

The best man. The loyal soldier. The man currently sitting in the basement laundry room guarding my six-year-old son.

Julian had murdered Vanessa’s mother thirty years ago to prove his loyalty to Luca’s father.

And Vanessa didn’t know. She had spent three years manipulating and terrorizing the man who had secretly orphaned her. She had forced Julian to hold a gun to Luca’s head, completely unaware that Julian was the true monster of her nightmares.

A profound, sickening silence settled on the other side of the door.

“Julian,” Vanessa whispered through the wood. Her voice wasn’t angry anymore. It was completely, terrifyingly hollow.

“Vanessa, listen to me,” Luca said, stepping closer to the door. “Julian is downstairs. He has Claire’s son. Do not go near him.”

But there was no answer.

Only the soft, retreating sound of high heels clicking rapidly down the carpeted hallway.

She was going for Julian.

And my son was sitting right next to him.

“No!” I screamed, throwing myself at the heavy oak door. I rattled the brass handle, kicking the solid wood with everything I had. “Open it! Open the door!”

It didn’t budge. The manual deadbolt was thrown from the outside.

“Step back,” Luca ordered.

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled Julian’s suppressed 9mm from his waistband. He aimed at the heavy brass lock mechanism and fired twice.

The suppressed shots were quiet, a sharp thwip-thwip, but the impact shattered the brass housing. Wood splinters flew into the room.

Luca kicked the door just above the handle.

The heavy oak groaned, the shattered lock giving way. The door swung open, slamming against the hallway wall.

I didn’t wait for him. I sprinted down the hallway, adrenaline flooding my veins, erasing the pain in my injured hand. I ran faster than I ever had in my life.

Down the grand staircase. Through the kitchens. Toward the basement doors.

“Claire, wait!” Luca yelled from behind me, but I didn’t stop.

I hit the basement door with my shoulder, bursting onto the concrete landing.

“Leo!” I screamed.

I bounded down the stairs, rounding the corner into the laundry room.

The room was empty.

The space behind the industrial dryers was vacant. My heavy wool coat lay discarded on the concrete floor.

Julian was gone.

And Leo was gone.

I collapsed against the side of the washing machine, a ragged, guttural sob tearing from my throat. “No. No, no, no.”

Luca rushed into the room a second later, his gun drawn. He saw the empty space and the dropped coat.

“She beat us here,” I wept, sliding down the cold metal of the machine to the floor. “She took him to get to Julian.”

“No,” Luca said, his eyes scanning the room. He walked over to a metal folding table near the exit door that led out to the estate grounds.

Resting on the table was a heavy, diamond-encrusted gold bracelet.

The one Vanessa had been wearing all night.

Tucked under it was a piece of white linen, torn from a tablecloth. Written in smeared red lipstick were three words:

The Old Boathouse.

“She didn’t take the boy,” Luca said, staring at the note. “Julian did.”

The reversal made my stomach heave.

Julian hadn’t been guarding Leo out of the goodness of his heart. When Luca had called the Boston Capo and freed Mia, Julian had realized his daughter was safe. He had no more reason to follow Vanessa’s orders.

But he also knew Vanessa was coming for the ledger. He knew his life was forfeit if he stayed in the house.

So Julian took the only leverage he had left to ensure his safe escape from Chicago. My son.

And Vanessa had followed them.

“The boathouse is on the edge of the property, down by the lake,” Luca said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. “It’s where my father used to smuggle whiskey during the Prohibition days. It has a speed boat docked inside. Julian is trying to escape across the water.”

We ran out the basement exit, plunging back into the freezing night.

The wind whipping off Lake Michigan was brutal, cutting through my thin blouse. I didn’t feel the cold. I only felt the desperate, blinding need to reach my child.

We sprinted across the dark, sprawling lawns, moving away from the lights of the mansion and into the dense treeline that bordered the water.

Through the naked branches of the winter trees, the silhouette of the old wooden boathouse loomed over the dark, choppy water.

A dim yellow light burned inside.

Luca stopped me twenty yards from the entrance, pressing us behind the trunk of a massive oak tree.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered, checking the magazine of the 9mm. “Julian is desperate. He has nothing left to lose.”

“Just get my son,” I pleaded, tears freezing on my cheeks.

We crept toward the wooden structure. The sound of the waves sloshing against the wooden pylons masked our footsteps.

Luca reached the side door. It was slightly ajar.

He nudged it open with his shoulder, slipping inside, his gun raised. I followed closely behind, clutching the fabric of his suit jacket.

The interior of the boathouse smelled of gasoline, algae, and old wood. A single bare bulb illuminated the space. In the center of the room, a sleek, dark speedboat was tied to the interior dock, bobbing gently in the water.

Standing on the wooden dock was Julian.

He was holding a heavy duffel bag in one hand.

And in his other hand, he held Leo.

Julian had his arm wrapped tightly around my son’s chest, holding him off the ground. Leo was crying silently, his small face pale with terror.

But Julian wasn’t looking at the door.

He was looking at the woman standing at the edge of the dock, blocking his path to the boat.

Vanessa.

Her red silk dress was torn at the hem, ruined by the mud and the snow. Her perfect hair was wild. And in her hand, she held the silver, pearl-handled revolver she had brought to the engagement dinner.

She had it aimed directly at Julian’s face.

“Put the boy down, Julian,” Vanessa said. Her voice was unrecognizable. It wasn’t the polished, arrogant tone of a mafia fiancée. It was the raw, guttural sound of an orphan who had finally cornered her mother’s killer.

“Step aside, Vanessa,” Julian warned, his grip tightening on Leo. “I’m getting in that boat. If you shoot, the kid goes into the freezing water with me.”

“I don’t care about the kid,” Vanessa lied, her hands shaking as she gripped the revolver. “You killed my mother. You drove her car off the bridge on Route 9. You watched her drown.”

Julian flinched. The confirmation that she knew the truth broke his remaining resolve.

“I was ordered to do it! Vincenzo told me she was a rat!”

“And I am going to watch you die,” Vanessa wept, pulling the hammer back on the revolver with a sharp click.