THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME PULL HIS TWELVE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER'S LONG BROWN BRAID OUT OF THE TRASH BESIDE HIS ENGAGEMENT TABLE—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE ASKED ME TO CUT IT OFF,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY THE LITTLE GIRL WAS CRYING, HER HAIR HANGING UNEVENLY AROUND HER FACE

Margaret stepped into the light of the kitchen.

She wasn't wearing her elegant navy evening dress anymore. She wore a dark tactical turtleneck and black cargo pants. The small pearl necklace was gone.

"Hello, Emma," Margaret said. Her voice was just as polite and soft as it had been at the dinner table, but her eyes were completely dead.

I backed away, instinctively moving to put myself between her and my mother on the sofa.

"You," I whispered. "You're with the Bellinis."

"I am a Bellini," Margaret corrected smoothly, keeping the gun trained on my chest. "Vanessa is my niece. A spoiled, emotional child who nearly ruined three years of careful planning because she wanted to play house with Luca Moretti."

Answer One: Margaret wasn't just a charity worker. She was the architect of the Bellini family's infiltration, pulling the strings behind Vanessa and Vincent.

Open Two: How did she get past Rossi's guards outside?

"The guards," I breathed, panic rising. "Rossi said—"

"Rossi's men are very loyal to Luca," Margaret interrupted, smiling faintly. "Which is why they died bravely at their posts upstairs ten minutes ago. The ventilation system is a wonderful way to introduce odorless neurotoxin into a sealed room."

My stomach lurched. The hum of the vents suddenly sounded like a death sentence.

"Don't worry," Margaret said, noticing my look. "I shut it off before I came down. I need Caroline alive. My brother—Vanessa's father—wants to execute her himself to send a message to Luca."

My mother whimpered from the sofa, her hands trembling in her lap.

"Leave her alone," I said fiercely, stepping forward. "She has nothing to do with this."

"She is collateral," Margaret said dismissively. "Just like you. Go to the bedroom, Emma. Bring Caroline and the child out here. Do it quietly, or I'll shoot your mother in the knee."

I hesitated, my mind racing.

I had no weapon. I had no training. I was a maid facing a professional killer.

But I had something Margaret didn't know about.

I reached into my apron pocket, my fingers brushing against the gold charm bracelet Caroline had given me.

"I said move," Margaret snapped, raising the gun slightly.

"Okay," I said, raising my hands submissively. "Okay, I'm going."

I turned and walked slowly down the short hallway toward the bedroom where Caroline and Lily were sleeping.

The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open.

Caroline was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed. She had heard the voices. Her eyes widened in terror as she saw my face.

I put a finger to my lips, signaling absolute silence.

I stepped into the room.

"They're here," I mouthed silently.

Caroline covered her mouth, her face turning ashen. She looked down at Lily, who was still fast asleep, clutching the blue ribbon from her cut braid.

I needed a weapon. I frantically scanned the room. A lamp. A heavy vase. Nothing that would stop a bullet.

Then I looked at the heavy wooden door.

"Mrs. Moretti," I whispered, barely breathing the words. "Hide in the closet. Cover Lily's mouth."

Caroline didn't argue. She scooped up her sleeping daughter with surprising strength and stepped into the walk-in closet, pulling the louvered doors shut.

I stood by the bedroom door, my back pressed against the wall just inside the frame.

"Emma!" Margaret's voice called out from the kitchen, sharp and impatient. "I'm losing my patience."

I took the gold charm bracelet from my pocket. It was heavy. Solid gold.

I tossed the bracelet across the room. It hit the far wall with a sharp clack and dropped to the hardwood floor.

"What was that?" Margaret demanded.

Footsteps approached the hallway. Slow, deliberate.

I held my breath, flattening myself against the wall.

The barrel of the silenced pistol entered the doorway first.

Then Margaret stepped into the room, her eyes darting toward the gold bracelet lying on the floor.

She made a fatal mistake. She looked away from the door for one second.

I didn't think. I just acted.

I threw my entire body weight forward, slamming both of my hands into the heavy wooden door, driving it as hard as I could right into Margaret's face.

The solid oak hit her with a sickening crack.

Margaret screamed, dropping the gun as she staggered backward into the hallway, clutching her broken nose. Blood poured through her fingers.

I dove out of the room, scrambling across the floor toward the dropped gun.

Margaret recovered faster than I expected. She kicked out blindly, her heavy combat boot catching me in the ribs.

I gasped in pain, rolling away, but my fingers closed around the cold metal of the pistol.

I scrambled to my knees, raising the gun with both hands, my fingers trembling on the trigger.

Margaret stood up, her face a bloody mask of fury. She reached behind her back, pulling a combat knife from her belt.

"You stupid little girl," she hissed, stepping toward me.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice echoing in the concrete bunker. "I'll shoot! I swear to God I'll shoot!"

Margaret laughed. It was a wet, horrible sound. "You don't even know how to turn the safety off, Emma."

I looked down at the gun in panic.

She lunged.

BANG.

The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.

But I hadn't pulled the trigger.

Margaret stopped dead in her tracks.

The knife slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She looked down at her chest in shock. A dark red stain was rapidly spreading across her black turtleneck.

She collapsed forward, hitting the ground heavily.