Her Sister Sneered, “Nobody Wants You”—Until the Mafia Boss Made Her the Only Woman Who Mattered The champagne tasted like battery acid, and the room smelled of old money and quiet desperation.

“They are coming here?” Victor’s voice was dangerously calm.

He looked at Dante.

Dante gave a single, grim nod. “I locked down the building, Boss. But if the Russians realize Callaway skipped town with their payment, they won’t just want the girl anymore. They’ll want blood to save face.”

Diana dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands. “He promised me,” she sobbed. “He promised after the insurance paid out, we would move to Paris. He said you were a burden, Harper. I didn’t know he was going to leave me behind too!”

Harper looked down at her older sister.

An hour ago, in the ballroom, Diana had been an untouchable queen of cruelty. Now, she was a pathetic, broken pawn.

Harper felt no pity. She felt a cold, sharp clarity that she had never experienced before.

“You knew he was going to have me killed,” Harper said.

Diana flinched, looking up with tear-stained eyes. “I... I didn’t want to know the details! He just said the problem would be solved tonight! Harper, please, you have to tell Mr. Rossi to protect me!”

“Take her to the holding room,” Victor ordered Dante, completely disgusted.

“No! Please!” Diana screamed as Dante hauled her up by her arm and dragged her down the hall, locking her behind a heavy steel door.

Victor turned to Harper. “We have less than ten minutes before they hit the lobby. I need to move you and Leo to the safe room.”

Suddenly, the penthouse plunged into total darkness.

The soft lamps died. The hum of the refrigerator stopped. The only light was the ambient, pale glow of the Chicago skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“They cut the main power,” Victor said, drawing his weapon. The metallic snick of the safety coming off echoed in the dark.

“Uncle Vic?” Leo whimpered from the hallway.

Harper didn’t wait for Victor. She ran toward the boy’s voice, moving blindly until her hands found his small, trembling shoulders.

“I’ve got you, Leo,” Harper whispered, pulling him into her arms.

“They’re here,” Leo whispered back, his breath hot against her neck. “The spider man let them in.”

Harper froze. “What did you say?”

Leo shifted in her arms. In the dim light from the window, he pressed a crumpled piece of paper into Harper’s hand.

“I saw him,” Leo whispered. “When Dante brought the screaming lady in. I saw the spider man on the cameras.”

Harper carried Leo to the window, angling the paper toward the moonlight.

It was a child’s drawing, done in black crayon.

It showed the lobby of the building. It showed men with guns walking through the front doors. And standing by the security panel, holding the door open for them, was a stick figure with a very specific, jagged web drawn onto the side of its neck.

Harper’s blood ran cold as ice.

She remembered Dante stepping out of the elevator. She remembered the collar of his shirt being pulled aside as he dragged Diana.

Dante had a spiderweb tattoo on his neck.

“Victor,” Harper hissed into the darkness, turning around.

But Victor wasn’t there.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor.