My mafia boss husband had just admitted that someone in our house ordered my mother's murder.

The hum of the engine filled the agonizing silence in the car.

I looked at Anthony. My beautiful, brave boy, clutching the ledger that could save us, completely unaware of the absolute devastation my sister was threatening.

"You wouldn't," I said into the phone, my voice cracking. "Claire, he's your nephew."

"He's my leverage," Claire corrected smoothly. "Vincent needs that ledger, Evelyn. And I need Vincent to stay out of prison so I can have the life you stole from me."

"I didn't steal anything from you!" I yelled, slamming my hand against the steering wheel. "I raised you! I worked three jobs to put you through college!"

"And you made sure I never forgot it," Claire snapped, the sweet facade finally dropping. "You got the perfect husband, the mansion, the perfect son. I got nothing. Now, it's my turn."

"Claire, listen to me," I begged. "Vincent killed our mother. He admitted it. He's only using you for your liver."

Claire laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "I know about my liver, Evelyn. It was the price of admission. A small price to pay to be the queen of his empire. Now, bring the ledger to the old boathouse at the edge of the property. You have twenty minutes, or the documents go to the press."

The line went dead.

I dropped the phone into my lap, burying my face in my hands. I was trapped.

"Mom?" Anthony asked quietly. "What did she say?"

I looked at my son. The boy I had carried, birthed, and loved with every fiber of my being.

"She wants the ledger," I said honestly. "She's threatening to release lies about us if we don't give it to her."

Anthony looked down at the heavy book in his lap. Then, he did something that proved he was nothing like his father.

He unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Then we give it to her," Anthony said firmly.

"Anthony, no. If we give them this, we have nothing. They'll kill us."

"We don't give her the real one," Anthony said, his eyes flashing with a sudden, brilliant determination.

He opened the glove compartment of Celeste's car. Inside was a thick stack of blank legal pads and a heavy, leather-bound car manual that was roughly the same size as the ledger.

"Mom, it's dark," Anthony said, quickly tearing the cover off the manual. "We wrap the real ledger in my jacket and hide it under the seat. We hand her this in the dark. It gives us enough time to get away."

It was a desperate, dangerous plan. But it was the only plan we had.

I nodded, drying my tears. "Okay. Okay, we do it."

We drove back toward the estate, parking a mile away from the boathouse. The water of the lake was black and still, reflecting the sliver of moonlight overhead.

I clutched the fake ledger to my chest, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm.

"Stay in the car," I told Anthony. "Lock the doors. If I'm not back in ten minutes, you drive straight to the police station. Do you understand?"

"Mom, I can't leave you," he pleaded.

"You have to," I said, kissing his forehead.

I walked out into the freezing night, the wind whipping off the lake.

The boathouse was dark, save for a single lantern glowing on the dock.

Standing on the wooden planks, wrapped in a thick wool coat, was Claire. Alone.

"I knew you'd come," Claire smiled as I approached. "You always were a martyr, Evie."

I held out the fake ledger. "Take it. And stay out of our lives."

Claire reached for the book.

But as her hand touched the leather, a massive shadow stepped out from behind the boathouse doors.

It wasn't Vincent.