THE LIE SPOKEN THROUGH THE SPEAKER

The rain seemed to stop entirely, replaced by the deafening roar of the blood rushing in my ears.

See you soon, son.

Vincent stared at the handwriting. His hand shook so violently he nearly dropped the gold watch.

“Mr. Marino?” I asked, stepping closer. “What does it mean?”

Vincent looked up, his dark eyes wide with a terror that Dominic Romano and a warehouse full of gunmen hadn't been able to produce.

“My father died in a federal prison hospital eight years ago,” Vincent whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. “I buried him myself. A closed casket. Congestive heart failure.”

He looked back down at the watch.

“This watch was on his wrist when the coroner took him away.”

Frank, who had walked over to join us, paled dramatically. The older man grabbed the side of the ambulance to steady himself. “Sir... are you saying Don Antonio is alive?”

“I’m saying this is his handwriting,” Vincent said, crushing the note in his fist. “And this is his watch.”

He looked at Evan. “Caroline said the man who gave her orders gave her this?”

Evan nodded, terrified by the sudden shift in Vincent’s demeanor. “She said the Romanos weren't the ones pulling the strings. She said they were just the muscle. The real boss was the one who arranged the marriage.”

Vincent closed his eyes. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

Caroline hadn't been targeting Vincent to pay a debt. She had been hired by Vincent’s own father to infiltrate the house, destabilize the empire, and prepare it for the old king’s return. Antonio Marino hadn't died; he had faked his death to escape federal prosecution, and now that the statute of limitations on his crimes had expired, he was coming back to reclaim his throne.

And he was willing to kill his own son to do it.

“Frank,” Vincent barked, the absolute authority returning to his voice instantly. “Get the kids in my SUV. We aren’t going back to the estate.”

“Where are we going?” Frank asked, already herding Evan and Mia toward the armored car.

“The city penthouse,” Vincent said. “It’s off the books. My father doesn't know about it.”

Vincent grabbed my uninjured right hand, his grip tight and protective. We hurried to the SUV. The drive back into the heart of Chicago was a tense, suffocating silence.

We pulled into the underground parking garage of a sleek, high-security high-rise in downtown Chicago. Vincent ushered us into a private elevator that opened directly into a massive, minimalist penthouse overlooking the city skyline.

“Lock the doors,” Vincent ordered Frank. “Don't let anyone up. Not even the police.”

I sat Mia down on the plush velvet sofa, wrapping her tightly in the blanket. The little girl was exhausted, her eyes drooping heavily. Evan sat beside her, looking shell-shocked.

Vincent paced the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows, running his hands through his wet hair.

“He planned all of this,” Vincent muttered, piecing it together. “He used Miles to cut the brakes. He used Caroline to get close to me. He wanted me disgraced or dead so the council would welcome him back with open arms.”

“But you stopped Caroline,” I pointed out gently, walking over to him. “And Miles is tied up at the estate. Your father’s plan failed.”

Vincent stopped pacing. He looked at me, a profound sadness in his eyes.

“My father doesn't fail, Jessie,” Vincent said quietly. “If Plan A didn't work, he already has a Plan B in motion. He knows I survived the warehouse by now. Which means he’s going to strike the heart of what I have left.”

Suddenly, the penthouse intercom buzzed.

A sharp, shrill sound that made everyone in the room jump.

Frank walked over to the console near the elevator. He pushed the button. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Mr. Marino,” a flat, static-laced voice came through the speaker.

“We didn't order anything,” Frank said, looking at Vincent.

“I know,” the voice replied. “But he’ll want this.”

Vincent strode over to the console. He hit the video feed button.

The screen flickered to life, showing the empty lobby downstairs. Sitting alone on the marble reception desk was a small, black velvet box.

Vincent’s jaw tightened.

He hit the elevator button.

“Vincent, don't,” I pleaded, grabbing his arm. “It could be a bomb.”

“It’s not a bomb,” Vincent said, his voice entirely hollow. “He likes to play games.”

He stepped into the elevator. I didn't let him go alone. I stepped in right beside him. He looked at me, sighed, but didn't push me out.

We descended to the lobby. The night concierge was nowhere to be found. The massive glass doors leading to the street were locked.

Sitting perfectly in the center of the desk was the black box.

Vincent walked over. He didn't hesitate. He opened it.

Inside was a single, pristine white chess piece. A king.

But wrapped around the base of the chess piece was a silver chain.

I gasped, covering my mouth with my good hand.

It was the silver wolf’s head bracelet. The one Evan had worn. The one Margaret the nanny had torn off in the crosswalk.

“The police took that into evidence at the hospital,” I whispered, terrified. “How did he get it?”

Vincent didn't answer. He turned the box over.

Written on the bottom in thick black marker were three words.

Checkmate. Look up.

We both slowly raised our heads, looking through the glass lobby doors, out into the dark, rainy street.

Standing across the street, under the flickering glow of a broken streetlight, was a man in a dark trench coat.

He was holding a cell phone to his ear.

He raised his free hand and gave a slow, mocking wave.

It wasn't Antonio Marino.

It was Miles.

The head of security wasn't tied up at the estate.

Vincent’s phone rang in his pocket.

He pulled it out, answering it slowly, never taking his eyes off the man across the street.

“I thought I left you unconscious on the garage floor,” Vincent said.

Miles’s chuckle echoed through the phone. “You hit hard, boss. But the guards Frank tied up? They untied me as soon as Frank left. You really should have vetted your payroll better.”

“What do you want, Miles?”

“I don't want anything,” Miles said casually. “But your father wants his vault keys. And since you’re currently standing in the lobby of your penthouse...”

A cold dread washed over me.