**THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED HIS 78-YEAR-OLD MOTHER WALK INTO HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER HOLDING AN EMPTY RED DOG LEASH, HER SLIPPERS SOAKED FROM THE RAIN—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “HE RAN OUT THROUGH THE SIDE GATE,” BEFORE LUCA EVEN ASKED WHERE HIS LATE FATHER'S OLD DOG HAD GONE.**

The words on the tiny scrap of paper burned into my mind, louder than the heavy rain lashing against the windows of the federal SUV.

The real ledger is in Walter’s collar.

I stared at the faded blue ribbon attached to the brass key. My hands shook so violently I had to press my fists against my thighs to hide it from the FBI agent driving in the front seat.

My father had lied to the feds.

He hadn't handed over the syndicate’s offshore ledgers. He had handed over fake documents to secure his own immunity, throwing Teresa under the bus to save himself.

And Teresa had hidden the real proof—the only leverage the Moretti family had left—inside the thick leather collar of a thirteen-year-old golden retriever.

“Are you girls doing alright back there?” the agent driving asked, glancing at us through the rearview mirror.

“We’re fine,” I managed to say, my voice tight. “Just… shocked.”

“Understandable,” the agent sighed. “Finding out your old man is the mafia’s piggy bank isn't exactly a normal Tuesday.”

I looked out the window. We were driving on the interstate, heading away from the city center.

I needed to get back to the estate. I needed to get to Walter before the FBI tore the mansion apart searching for evidence.

But I was trapped in a moving federal vehicle.

“Where are you taking us?” Emily asked, her voice trembling as she wiped tears from her cheeks.

“Federal medical facility in the suburbs,” the agent replied. “Your dad is waiting there. He’s going to explain everything.”

My heart hardened.

My father had used me. He had let me scrub toilets for the people he worked for, letting me believe we were struggling, all while he orchestrated millions of dollars in illegal funds. And now, he was sacrificing an old woman to save his own skin.

I wasn't going to let him get away with it.

I squeezed Emily’s hand, giving her a sharp, significant look. She sniffled, looking at me with wide, confused eyes.

I leaned forward toward the metal partition separating us from the driver.

“Excuse me,” I said, panic rising in my voice. “Excuse me, you need to pull over.”

The agent frowned in the mirror. “We can't stop, miss. Protocol.”

“My sister is going to be sick!” I yelled, faking absolute hysteria. “She has a heart condition! The stress… she can't breathe! Look at her!”

I dug my fingernails hard into Emily’s wrist.

Emily yelped in genuine pain, gasping loudly and clutching her chest.

“Pull over!” I screamed, banging my fists on the metal grate. “If she dies in the back of this car, I swear to God I’ll sue the federal government for everything!”

The agent cursed loudly. The last thing he wanted was a medical emergency with a high-profile witness’s daughter.

He swerved the SUV onto the shoulder of the highway, slamming on the brakes. The vehicle skidded slightly on the wet pavement before coming to a violent stop.

“Stay in the car!” the agent ordered, throwing his door open and stepping out into the pouring rain.

He walked around to the back door, his hand resting cautiously on his holstered weapon, and yanked the handle open.

“Is she—”

I didn't let him finish.

As soon as the door swung open, I kicked out with both feet as hard as I could.

My muddy boots slammed directly into the agent’s chest. He grunted in surprise, stumbling backward and slipping on the slick, wet grass of the highway shoulder. He fell hard onto his back.

“Run, Em! Run!” I screamed, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the SUV.

We didn't run down the highway. We scrambled down the steep, muddy embankment toward the dark tree line bordering the interstate.

“Hey! Stop!” the agent yelled, scrambling to his feet, pulling his gun.

But he didn't fire. He couldn't shoot unarmed civilians.

We tore through the wet underbrush, branches whipping against our faces. The mud sucked at our shoes, but pure adrenaline fueled my legs.

We ran until my lungs burned and Emily collapsed against a thick oak tree, gasping for air.

We were deep in the woods. The flashing lights of the abandoned SUV were barely visible through the trees.

“Claire… what are you doing?” Emily sobbed, sliding down the trunk of the tree into the mud. “We just assaulted a federal agent! We’re going to prison!”

“No, we aren't,” I panted, leaning against the tree next to her. “Dad set Teresa up. He gave the feds fake ledgers. The real ones are at the estate.”

“Why do you care about Teresa?” Emily cried. “She’s the mob boss!”

“Because she didn't lie to us!” I yelled, frustration and betrayal boiling over. “Dad did! Dad used us! And if the feds realize Dad gave them fake documents, they’ll revoke his immunity, and they’ll come after us to force him to talk!”

I knelt in front of her, gripping her shoulders.

“We have to get the real ledger, Emily. It’s the only leverage we have to protect ourselves.”

Emily stared at me, terrified, but she slowly nodded.

We hiked through the woods for twenty minutes until we reached a suburban street. I broke a window of a parked, beat-up sedan in a driveway, hot-wired it—a skill my supposedly innocent father had ironically taught me when I was a teenager—and sped back toward the city.

By the time we reached the Moretti estate, it was nearly 2:00 AM.

The mansion was completely dark. The FBI hadn't arrived to search it yet. The massive iron gates were standing wide open, abandoned by the security detail Luca had sent to the cemetery.

I parked the stolen car down the street, and we crept through the side gate—the same gate Vanessa had claimed Walter ran through hours ago.

We slipped through the kitchen door. The house was eerily silent, smelling of stale champagne and cold food from the ruined engagement dinner.

“Walter?” I whispered, creeping toward the grand staircase.

No answer.

We moved up the stairs, our wet shoes squeaking softly on the marble.

I headed straight for the west wing, pushing the door to Teresa’s master suite open.

The room was exactly as we had left it. The window was still open, the rain blowing in.

And curled up on his old blue blanket in the corner, sleeping peacefully, was Walter.

“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, rushing over to the old dog.

Walter lifted his gray head, his tail giving a weak thump against the floor. He licked my hand as I knelt beside him.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.

I immediately reached for his thick, red leather collar.

I found the stiff brass buckle and finally undid it, pulling the collar off his neck.

It felt incredibly heavy.

I turned the leather over in my hands. The inside lining was stitched with thick, heavy thread. I pulled a pocketknife from my jacket and sliced the stitching open.

Inside the hollowed-out leather collar were three micro-SD cards, wrapped tightly in plastic.

The real ledgers.

I had them.

“You found it,” Emily whispered, standing behind me.

“Yeah,” I said, pocketing the SD cards and the brass key. “Now we have to go before the feds—”

CLICK.

The sound of a gun hammer cocking echoed loudly in the quiet bedroom.

I froze.