MY EX-HUSBAND PULLED MY CHAIR AWAY AT THE MAFIA BOSS’S DINNER AND TOLD EVERYONE I WAS “MENTALLY UNSTABLE”—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI ASKED HIS MOTHER ONE QUESTION, MY EX STOPPED SMILING.

I have Rebecca’s daughter. Bring the ledger to the estate, or little Mia doesn't make it to morning. - Daniel.

I stared at the glowing screen, my sister’s blood drying tight and sticky on my hands.

My breath hitched in my throat. I couldn't scream. I couldn't cry. A cold, absolute numbness washed over me, crystallizing my grief into pure, unadulterated rage.

Daniel had taken Mia. The sweet, innocent five-year-old girl who had drawn a picture for him because she wanted him to be proud.

“Marcus,” I said, my voice shockingly calm. It didn't sound like me. It sounded like Chloe. “Turn the car around. We’re going back to the estate.”

Marcus glanced at me in the rearview mirror, noting my blood-soaked clothes and the dead look in my eyes. “Claire, my orders are to get you to a safe house. Luca is still at the hospital.”

“Daniel is at the estate,” I stated, holding up the phone so Marcus could see the message. “He has Mia. He brought Carlo Vane and the Rossis to raid the vault while Luca is gone.”

Marcus slammed on the brakes, the heavy armored SUV skidding to a halt in the middle of a deserted intersection. He snatched the phone from my hand, reading the text. His jaw locked tightly.

“If we go in there without backup,” Marcus grunted, chambering a round in his pistol, “we’re walking into a slaughterhouse.”

“Then call backup,” I replied, clutching the black ledger tightly against my chest. “But we are not leaving that little girl to die.”

Marcus gave a curt nod, whipping the steering wheel hard and accelerating toward the affluent suburbs. He keyed his shoulder radio, frantically calling in every Moretti loyalist off duty.

Thirty minutes later, the massive iron gates of the Moretti estate loomed in the darkness. They were wide open.

The security guards were gone.

We pulled into the circular driveway, tires crunching softly on the gravel. The mansion was entirely dark, save for a single light burning in the grand dining room—the same room where my life had imploded just hours earlier.

“Stay behind me,” Marcus ordered, stepping out of the SUV and keeping his weapon raised.

I followed him up the marble steps. The front doors were unlocked.

We moved silently down the hallway. My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I gripped the ledger and the silver pendant Chloe gave me. I had lost my mother. I had lost my sister twice. I was not going to let Daniel take anyone else.

We reached the archway of the dining room.

Sitting at the head of the table, in the exact chair Teresa had occupied, was Carlo Vane. He was a terrifyingly calm man, smoking a cigar, his heavy gold rings clicking against the mahogany table.

Four heavily armed Rossi soldiers flanked him in the shadows.

And standing beside Vane, wearing a brand-new gold Rolex watch and a sickeningly triumphant smile, was Daniel.

Sitting in a chair in the corner, clutching her stuffed rabbit and crying silently, was Mia.

“Ah, the maid returns,” Daniel sneered, his eyes dropping to the blood on my clothes. He laughed softly. “I see you found your sister. Tragic. Truly. But I warned her about playing both sides.”

“Let the girl go, Daniel,” I said, my voice steady as I stepped fully into the room, holding up the black ledger. “You want this. Mia has nothing to do with it.”

Carlo Vane leaned forward, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. “The book, Miss Bennett. Slide it across the table. Then you and the bodyguard can leave.”

Marcus tensed beside me, his finger hovering over the trigger. But four guns immediately clicked in the darkness, all pointed directly at us. We were outgunned.

I took a slow step toward the table.

“Daniel,” I said, locking eyes with my ex-husband. “You pawned my mother’s bracelet. You lied about me having cancer. You forged my name. You manipulated my sister into getting killed. For what? To impress him?” I nodded toward Vane.

Daniel scoffed, adjusting the heavy gold Rolex on his wrist. “To win, Claire. Something you never understood. In this world, you’re either eating, or you’re on the menu. This ledger buys my way into the Rossi family inner circle. I’ll run the construction unions for the entire city.”

He reached out his hand eagerly. “Give me the book.”

I looked at the Rolex on his wrist.

“You bought that watch with Rebecca’s trust fund, didn't you?” I asked quietly.

Daniel smirked. “It’s a celebration gift to myself. She was a boring woman anyway.”

I placed the ledger on the table, keeping my hand flat on top of it.

“You think you’ve won,” I said softly. “You think Carlo Vane is going to reward you for bringing him his own stolen ledger.”

Vane frowned, sitting up straighter. “What are you talking about, girl?”

I slid my hand off the book.

“Chloe didn't just steal the ledger to hide it, Mr. Vane,” I said, staring directly into the mob boss’s eyes. “She spent ten years documenting every penny you skimmed from the Rossi Dons in New York. She told me exactly what’s in there.”

Daniel’s smile vanished. “She’s lying, Vane. She’s bluffing.”

I ignored him, keeping my eyes on Vane. “Page forty-two. You skimmed three hundred thousand from the port union kickbacks last November. Page eighty-nine. You held back half a million from the casino laundering operation. The Dons think you’re loyal. This book proves you’re a thief.”

Vane’s cigar dropped from his lips, landing on the white tablecloth and burning a black hole into the fabric.

“Daniel,” I whispered, turning my gaze back to my ex-husband, who was suddenly trembling violently. “Did you really think the Rossis would let you live after you read a book proving their Chicago boss was stealing from the family?”

Daniel looked at Vane in sheer panic. “I… I didn't read it! I swear on my life, Mr. Vane, I never opened it!”

Vane slowly stood up from the table.

“You’re a liability, Daniel,” Vane said, his voice cold as ice. He nodded to one of his soldiers. “Kill him. Kill them all.”

Daniel screamed, diving under the table.

The soldier raised his gun toward me.

Before he could pull the trigger, the massive stained-glass window behind the dining table shattered inward in a shower of brilliant colored glass.