SHE'S NOT FAMILY ANYMORE! TAKE HER BACK OUTSIDE!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 25-YEAR-OLD MAID FOR BRINGING AN ELDERLY

“Sophie?!” I hissed, my voice tight with terror.

I dropped to my knees, checking under the bed. Empty.

I threw open the closet doors, shoving aside her tiny dresses and coats. Empty.

Panic seized my throat. The window was open, but we were on the second floor. A sheer drop to the stone patio below. She couldn't have climbed out.

“Sophie, please!” I whispered loudly, tearing through the attached bathroom.

Nothing.

Then, I noticed something on the thick Persian rug near the doorway.

A small, silver hair clip. The one Sophie had been wearing.

I picked it up. My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped it.

Julian hadn't just walked up the main staircase to confront Luca. He had sent someone up the back servant stairs. The stairs that led directly to the adjoining playroom connected to Sophie’s bathroom.

They had taken her.

Outside in the hallway, the confrontation had begun.

“Where is the girl, Luca?” Julian’s voice sneered through the heavy oak door.

“If you touch my daughter, I will burn you alive, Julian,” Luca’s voice vibrated with a rage so profound it rattled the floorboards.

“Oh, I’m not going to hurt her,” Julian laughed. “She’s the sole beneficiary of the offshore accounts once you’re out of the picture. I need her alive. I just need you dead.”

A gunshot exploded in the hallway.

I screamed, covering my mouth with both hands.

“Luca!” I cried softly, pressing my ear against the wood.

More gunfire followed. The sound of heavy bodies crashing into the antique tables lining the corridor.

I remembered Luca’s order. Call Marcus.

I dug his cell phone out of my apron pocket. The screen was locked, but the emergency dial pad was accessible. I didn't know Marcus's number.

Tears streamed down my face. I couldn't call for help. I was trapped in a room, the man who had treated me with nothing but respect was fighting for his life outside, and a terrified eight-year-old girl was in the hands of a monster.

I had to do something.

I was twenty-five years old. I had grown up in the poorest neighborhood in South Chicago. I had fought off muggers and survived abusive landlords. I wasn't just a maid who polished silver.

I looked around the room for a weapon.

There was a heavy, solid brass lamp on the bedside table. I ripped the cord from the wall and gripped the base with both hands.

I unlocked the bedroom door and yanked it open.

The hallway was filled with thick, acrid gunsmoke.

Luca was pinned against the wall near the staircase. Julian’s men—two massive thugs I recognized as former estate guards—were holding him. Luca was bleeding from a cut above his eye, but he was fighting like a trapped tiger, his fists flying.

Julian stood a few feet away, holding a silver pistol, aiming it directly at Luca’s chest.

“Say hello to Caroline for me,” Julian sneered, pulling the hammer back.

I didn't think. I just moved.

I sprinted down the hallway in my sensible maid’s shoes, raising the heavy brass lamp above my head.

Julian didn't hear me until I was right behind him.

I swung the lamp with every ounce of strength in my body, striking Julian squarely in the back of the head.

There was a sickening crack.

Julian screamed, dropping the gun as he crumpled to the floor.

The two thugs froze, looking at their boss on the ground.

That split second of distraction was all Luca needed.

He headbutted the man on his left, breaking the guard's nose with a crunch. Then he swept the legs of the second man, sending him tumbling down the grand mahogany staircase.

Luca grabbed Julian’s dropped pistol from the floor. He aimed it at the remaining guard.

“Run,” Luca breathed heavily.

The guard took one look at Luca’s eyes, raised his hands, and sprinted down the stairs, fleeing out the front door.

Silence fell over the hallway again.

Julian groaned on the floor, clutching his bleeding head.

Luca turned to me. He was panting, blood dripping down his face, staining his white tuxedo shirt. He looked at the brass lamp in my hands, then up at my terrified face.

“You saved my life,” he whispered.

I dropped the lamp. My hands were trembling violently.

“They took her, Luca,” I sobbed. “They took Sophie. They came up the back stairs while you were in the hall.”

Luca’s expression shattered.

He grabbed Julian by the collar of his expensive suit, dragging him up against the wall. He pressed the barrel of the gun directly under Julian’s chin.

“Where is my daughter?” Luca roared.

Julian coughed, spitting blood onto the carpet. He smiled, a sickening, blood-stained grin.

“She’s already gone, cousin. My men took her to the airstrip. They’re putting her on a private jet to Geneva. You’ll never see her again.”

Luca pressed the gun harder. “Call them off. Now.”

“I can’t,” Julian laughed weakly. “The pilot has orders. If I don’t call him in ten minutes with the code word, they take off. And if you kill me… you’ll never get the code.”

Luca closed his eyes. The agony of a father realizing he was trapped.

But then, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket.

Not Luca’s phone. My cheap, prepaid cell phone.

I pulled it out.

The caller ID made my heart stop.

It was my sister, Clara.

I answered it, putting it on speaker. “Clara? What’s wrong?”

“Emily!” Clara’s voice was hysterical on the other end of the line. “Emily, I’m at the hospital! You have to come right now!”

“Clara, I can’t leave, what’s happening?”

“It’s about the tuition money,” Clara sobbed. “A man came to the apartment twenty minutes ago. He said you owed his boss a favor. He forced me into a car, Emily!”

Julian’s bloody smile widened.

“Where are you, Clara?!” I screamed.

“I’m at the private airfield on 5th Avenue!” Clara cried. “Emily, there’s a little girl here. She’s crying. And the men… they said if you don’t bring Julian out safely, they’re taking us both on the plane.”