SHE ABANDONED THIS FAMILY FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. DON'T YOU DARE OFFER HER A SEAT!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S AUNT HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD MAID FOR HELPING A PO

00:58.

The red numbers on the pocket watch flashed like a heartbeat.

Javier’s thumb hovered over the remote detonator in his bloody hand.

“Say your prayers, little maid,” Javier sneered.

I was completely trapped. If I let go of the watch, the C4 would blow. If Javier pressed his button, we’d all die anyway.

Grace screamed from the back of the coatroom.

But before Javier could press the button, a figure lunged out of the darkness behind him.

Celia.

The seventy-year-old matriarch, her gown torn and her face pale with terror, threw herself onto Javier’s back.

“Run, Emma!” Celia shrieked, clawing at the mercenary’s face.

Javier roared in pain, swinging his arm backward to throw the old woman off. Celia crashed into the wall, sliding to the floor, but the distraction was enough.

The remote detonator slipped from Javier’s grasp, skittering across the marble hallway.

I didn't think. I couldn't.

Still keeping my right thumb clamped down on the pocket watch trigger, I lunged forward with my left hand, sweeping the remote detonator toward me.

Javier lunged for it at the exact same moment.

Our hands collided.

Javier grabbed my left wrist, his grip like a vice, trying to twist my arm to reach the remote.

“You’re dead!” he hissed, his breath smelling of copper and smoke.

As we struggled, my fingers scrambled blindly against his tactical vest. I was trying to push him away, to break his grip before he noticed the pocket watch in my other hand.

My fingers hooked onto something cold and metallic tucked inside the collar of his vest.

I yanked hard.

A heavy silver chain broke with a sharp snap.

Javier froze, his eyes widening in pure horror.

He let go of my wrist, grabbing desperately at his own chest.

I fell backward, clutching the object I had just torn from his neck.

00:30.

I scrambled back into the coatroom, breathing heavily, keeping my thumb clamped on the watch.

Anna grabbed the remote detonator from the floor and smashed it beneath the heel of her boot, destroying it completely.

Javier didn't even care.

He was staring at my hands with a look of absolute devastation.

I looked down at what I had torn from him.

It wasn't a dog tag. It wasn't a weapon.

It was a delicate silver bracelet.

Adorned with tiny, painted ceramic beads and a small, silver cross.

It was a child’s bracelet.

“Give that back to me,” Javier whispered. His voice wasn't arrogant anymore. It was the terrified, broken plea of a father.

“Who does this belong to?” I demanded, holding the bracelet up.

“Please,” Javier choked out, tears mixing with the blood on his face. “She’s six years old. The cartel has her. If I don't blow this house tonight, they’ll kill my little girl.”

The room went dead silent.

Answer one: Javier wasn't a loyal cartel mercenary. He was a desperate father being extorted by the same people who were hunting Marcus.

Open two: If the cartel was willing to hold a six-year-old girl hostage just to kill Luca Moretti... who exactly was pulling the strings in Colombia?

00:15.

The timer was beeping faster now.

“I can't stop the clock!” I cried, looking at Javier. “How do I disarm the pocket watch?!”

Javier looked at the watch in my hand.

“You can't,” he said, his voice hollow. “Marcus rigged it. Once the timer starts, it can only be overridden at the source.”

“Where is the C4?!” Anna demanded.

“On the main gas line in the basement boiler room,” Javier said, closing his eyes. “It’s too late.”

00:10.

I looked at Grace, who was weeping in Anna’s arms. I looked at Celia, unconscious on the floor.

I wasn't going to let them die in a coatroom.

“Take Grace and run to the gardens!” I yelled at Anna.

“I’m not leaving you, Emma!” Anna cried.

“GO!”

00:05.

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding the pocket watch against my chest, waiting for the floor to tear open beneath me.

00:03.

00:02.

00:01.

The watch beeped one long, continuous tone.

I stopped breathing.

Nothing happened.

The floor didn't explode. The mansion didn't collapse.

The only sound was the wailing of the emergency sirens.

I slowly opened my eyes.

I looked down at the pocket watch. The screen read 00:00.

I lifted my thumb off the pressure trigger.

Still nothing.

“Why didn't it blow?” Anna whispered, staring at the watch.

Before Javier could answer, a voice crackled from the radio clipped to his vest.

“Boss, the basement is secure,” Daniel’s voice echoed through the radio. “I found the C4 on the gas line. I pulled the blasting caps two minutes ago. The bomb is dead.”

I collapsed back against the wall, laughing hysterically, tears of pure relief pouring down my face.

Daniel had found it. Luca’s men had disabled the explosive just in time.

Javier stared at the radio, completely defeated.

“They’re going to kill her,” Javier wept, burying his face in his hands. “My little girl is dead.”

I looked at the silver bracelet in my hand.

I was a maid. I made beds. I polished silver.

But tonight, I had learned what kind of man Luca Moretti was.

I stood up, holding the bracelet, and walked over to the broken mercenary.

“Javier,” I said firmly.

He looked up at me.

“If you tell Luca exactly who holds your daughter,” I promised him, “he will get her back. The cartel just tried to blow up his home. He’s going to war anyway.”

Before Javier could answer, the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

We all looked up.

Luca was walking slowly down the marble steps.

He looked exhausted, his suit torn, blood on his knuckles.

And he was dragging Marcus by the collar of his tactical vest.

Marcus was unconscious, his face bruised and beaten.

Luca dropped his cousin at the bottom of the stairs.

He looked at me, holding the deactivated pocket watch.

“Are you hurt, Emma?” Luca asked softly.

“I’m okay,” I breathed. “Daniel stopped the bomb.”

Luca nodded. He walked over to his aunt, who was just regaining consciousness on the floor.

“Aunt Celia,” Luca said coldly.

Celia looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Luca, I’m sorry. I didn't know he brought a bomb. I just wanted him to have the money from the vault so he could survive.”

“Get up,” Luca ordered.

Celia struggled to her feet.

Luca didn't look at her with anger. He looked at her with finality.

“You saved Emma’s life just now,” Luca said. “That buys you a plane ticket out of Chicago. But you are never coming back.”

Celia opened her mouth to argue, but the look in Luca’s eyes stopped her. She nodded, completely broken, and walked out the front doors into the night.

Luca turned to his unconscious cousin on the floor.

He reached into Marcus’s tactical vest to search for any other weapons.

As Luca pulled his hand out, he froze.

He was holding a folded piece of paper.

An airline ticket.

Luca unfolded it in the red emergency light.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he looked at me, his eyes wide with a horrifying realization.

“Emma,” Luca whispered.

“What is it?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Marcus wasn't planning to escape alone,” Luca said, holding up the ticket.

The ticket wasn't a single fare to Colombia.