THE MAFIA BOSS SAW HIS PREGNANT MAID CARRYING A HEAVY SUITCASE—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SCREAMED, “DON'T OPEN IT!” “I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE PREGNANT! GET THAT SUITCASE DOWNSTAIRS!”

The heavy hospital door rattled violently.

Someone was trying to force the handle.

I pulled my knees to my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. "The guards," I whispered. "Vincent left two men outside."

"They're gone," Elena said, her voice terrifyingly calm.

She kept the gun trained on the heavy wooden door.

Bang.

Someone kicked the door. The wood splintered around the deadbolt.

Bang.

"Clara, get into the bathroom," Elena ordered without looking back. "Lock the door. Do not come out no matter what you hear."

I struggled out of the hospital bed, holding my heavy stomach, and waddled as fast as I could into the small en-suite bathroom.

I closed the door and turned the lock just as the main door to the room crashed open.

Through the thin bathroom door, I heard heavy boots step into the room.

"Put the gun down, Mrs. Moretti," a deep, raspy voice said.

Vargas.

Richard’s fixer. The man with the scar.

"If you're here, Vargas," Elena said steadily, "who is watching my daughter?"

"Your daughter is currently sitting in the basement of the old mill," Vargas chuckled. "Richard is keeping her company. He sent me to collect the pregnant maid. We still need her signature for the offshore accounts."

"You aren't touching her," Elena said.

"You haven't shot a gun in four years, princess," Vargas mocked. "Drop it."

I clamped my hands over my mouth to muffle my crying.

Then, the sound of three deafening gunshots echoed through the room.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone hit the floor hard.

A heavy, wet thud.

Silence followed.

"Elena?" I whimpered, terrified to move.

"It's okay, Clara," Elena’s voice called out, slightly breathless. "You can come out."

I slowly unlocked the bathroom door and peeked out.

Vargas was lying flat on his back in the center of the room, a massive red stain spreading across the chest of his tactical vest.

Elena stood over him, the gun still smoking in her hand.

She hadn't hesitated. She was a mother fighting for her child.

She quickly bent down and dug through Vargas’s pockets, pulling out a set of car keys and a bloody cell phone.

"Come on," Elena said, grabbing her trench coat. "Vincent is walking into a trap at the steel mill. Richard won't be alone. We have to go."

"I can't," I cried, holding my stomach. "I'll slow you down."

"I am not leaving you here for Richard's backup to find," Elena said fiercely. "Daniel saved my life. I am going to save yours. Now walk."

Across the city, the rain was lashing against the rusted metal walls of the abandoned steel mill.

Vincent and his strike team moved silently through the perimeter fence, cutting the chains with bolt cutters.

They bypassed the main factory floor and headed straight toward the Lighthouse Annex—a standalone concrete building near the edge of the churning lake.

Vincent stacked up against the heavy iron door with Marco and three other heavily armed men.

Vincent held up three fingers.

Two.

One.

Marco kicked the door with a breaching boot. It flew open, slamming against the concrete wall.

They flooded the room, flashlights piercing the darkness.

"Clear!" Marco shouted.

Vincent scanned the room. It was an old administrative office. Dust covered the desks.

But in the corner of the room, a heavy steel grate in the floor was pushed aside, revealing a narrow spiral staircase leading down into the darkness.

The basement.

Vincent didn't wait for his men. He descended the stairs, his pistol raised.

He reached the bottom.

The basement was massive, lit by flickering overhead utility lights.

Sitting in the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair, was Sarah Bennett. She had a bruise on her cheek, but she was alive.

And standing behind her, holding a terrified, dark-haired little girl by the arm, was Richard Sterling.

Richard held a silver revolver pressed against Grace's temple.

"Drop the gun, Vincent," Richard said casually, as if ordering a drink at a bar. "Or I decorate this dirty floor with your daughter."

Vincent froze.

He looked at Grace.

She was crying, clutching the stuffed rabbit he had seen in the photograph. Her huge, terrified blue eyes locked onto Vincent.

"Daddy?" she whimpered.

Vincent’s heart shattered.

He slowly lowered his pistol and placed it on the concrete floor. He kicked it away.

"Let her go, Richard," Vincent said, holding his hands up. "You’ve lost. Vargas is dead. My men are upstairs. You have no way out."

Richard smiled coldly.

"I don't need a way out, Vincent. I just need you dead. Once you're gone, Vanessa inherits everything as your legally recognized fiancée. The empire becomes mine."

"Vanessa is locked in a wine cellar," Vincent spat.

"Not anymore," a new voice echoed from the shadows.

Vincent turned.

Vanessa stepped out from behind a rusted steel pillar. She was holding Marco’s gun.

She had somehow escaped the estate and followed them.

"I told you I was going to be the lady of the house, Vincent," Vanessa smiled maliciously. "Daniel the security guard was very accommodating once I offered him a million dollars from my father's accounts to let me out."

Richard beamed at his daughter. "Good girl, Vanessa. Now, shoot him."

Vanessa raised the gun, aiming it directly at Vincent’s chest.

Vincent looked at Grace. He didn't care if he died, as long as she lived.

"Close your eyes, Gracie," Vincent whispered to his daughter.

"Wait," Vanessa said suddenly.

She lowered the gun slightly, looking at her father.

"Dad," Vanessa said, her voice trembling slightly. "Before I shoot him... where is the transfer deed for the offshore accounts?"

Richard frowned. "Vanessa, this is not the time."

"Where is it?" she demanded.

"I have it," Richard snapped. "Just pull the trigger."

"No," Vanessa said. "Because if I shoot him, I go to prison for murder. And you take the money."

Richard sighed impatiently. "Vanessa, don't be stupid."