THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A BROKEN LITTLE HOUSEKEEPER” IN FRONT OF HIS FAMILY—THEN I POINTED TO THE ONE THING SHE FORGOT TO HIDE. The first thing I noticed was not the necklace.

The smell of gasoline was sharp, burning the back of my throat.

Panic surged through my veins like ice water.

I slammed my shoulder against the heavy oak door. It didn’t budge. Dominic’s mansion had been built like a fortress to keep enemies out. Now, that same security was trapping us inside.

“Marcus!” Dominic roared, his fists pounding against the thick wood. “Marcus, if you touch my son, I will tear you apart!”

But the hallway was silent. The heavy footsteps were already moving away.

Anthony let out a terrified sob, clutching his favorite stuffed bear to his chest. “Daddy, it smells bad.”

Dominic stopped hitting the door.

He spun around, the fury in his eyes instantly replaced by pure survival instinct.

“Clara, grab a blanket from the bed,” Dominic ordered. “Stuff it under the crack of the door. We have to stop the fumes from coming in.”

I moved fast. I stripped the thick down comforter off Anthony’s bed and jammed it against the bottom of the door. My hands were shaking, but the years I spent taking care of elderly patients had taught me how to function through fear.

Answer One: Marcus was the inside man. He had betrayed Dominic to work for the Romanos.

But the answers only created more terrifying questions.

Open Two: Why was Isabella writing letters on my father’s stationary? And why was Marcus trying to burn us alive now?

Dominic rushed to the window and threw open the heavy curtains.

He cursed under his breath.

We were on the third floor. The drop to the stone patio below was at least forty feet. There was no balcony.

“Can we break the glass?” I asked, standing close to Anthony to shield him.

“It’s bulletproof glass,” Dominic said, pressing his forehead against the cold pane. “I had it installed when Anthony was born. It’s designed to withstand a bomb.”

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “I built this room to keep him safe. I built a cage.”

Smoke began to curl around the edges of the doorframe, gray and suffocating. The fire was growing in the hallway.

Anthony started coughing.

“Get him to the bathroom,” Dominic commanded. “Turn on the shower. Cold water. Wet some towels.”

I didn’t hesitate. I scooped the eight-year-old boy into my arms and carried him into the en-suite bathroom. I twisted the shower handle, soaking two plush white towels, and wrapped one around Anthony’s small face.

“Breathe through this, sweetie,” I told him softly. “It acts like a filter.”

Dominic walked into the bathroom a moment later, holding the stack of letters from the lockbox.

Even in the face of death, he couldn’t let them go.

He looked at me, his face pale under the harsh bathroom lights.

“Your father didn’t sabotage the car, Clara,” Dominic said, his voice raw. “He helped her escape.”

The reversal knocked the breath out of my lungs.

I stared at the letters in his hand.

“Escape from what?” I asked, my voice trembling. “From you?”

Dominic shook his head. “From the Romanos. Isabella was the one who uncovered their plan to take over my business. They threatened to kill Anthony if she told me. So she faked the crash.”

I connected the pieces. My father, a master mechanic, didn’t cut the brakes. He altered the car to make it look like a fatal crash. He provided the decoy vehicle.

“But my father was murdered,” I whispered. “And my brother was beaten.”

“Because the Romanos figured it out,” Dominic said grimly. “They found out Isabella survived. And they’ve been hunting her ever since. Vanessa was sent in to spy on me, to see if I knew where Isabella went.”

He looked down at the letters.

“Isabella hid these under Anthony’s bed before she vanished. She knew Vanessa would never look here, because Vanessa hates children.”

A loud crack echoed from the bedroom. The door was buckling from the heat of the fire outside.

We had minutes left.

I looked around the bathroom, desperate.

Marble floors. A massive soaking tub. A double vanity.

And a heavy cast-iron radiator cover bolted to the wall.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, pointing to the radiator. “When I clean this room, I have to remove that metal grate. Behind it is the old laundry chute. It leads straight down to the basement laundry room.”

Dominic’s eyes widened.

He didn’t ask if I was sure. He grabbed a heavy marble soap dispenser from the counter and smashed it against the bolts holding the radiator cover in place.

The bolts snapped.

He ripped the heavy metal grate away, revealing a dark, narrow shaft.

“It’s too small for me,” Dominic said, his voice tight. “But you and Anthony can fit.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Anthony screamed, clinging to his father’s leg.

“You have to, buddy,” Dominic said, tears streaming down his face. He kissed Anthony’s forehead firmly. “You go with Clara. She’s going to keep you safe. I promise.”

Dominic looked at me. It wasn’t the look of a boss giving an order to a housekeeper. It was a father begging a stranger for his son’s life.

“Take him,” Dominic said.

I grabbed Anthony, pulling him tight against my chest. “I’ve got him.”

I slid into the dark, metal chute. The metal was cold against my back.

Just before I let go to slide down, Dominic pressed something into my hand.

It was a heavy, cold object.

A gun.

“Marcus will be waiting in the basement,” Dominic said softly.