THE NIGHT MANHATTAN’S MOST FEARED MAFIA BOSS WALKED INTO MY RESTAURANT, I WAS CROUCHED BESIDE HIS ELDERLY MOTHER WITH A GLASS OF ORANGE JUICE IN ONE HAND AND HER TREMBLING FINGERS WRAPPED AROUND THE OTHER. I didn’t know who she was. That was probably the only reason I treated her normally.

The grand terminal felt like a tomb. I was trapped between Carlo Moretti's men on the stairs and my former manager, David, holding a gun to Vincent's back.

Leo stirred in my arms, whimpering softly. I pressed his face into my shoulder, shielding his eyes.

"David, put the gun down," Vincent said, his voice remarkably calm. He didn't even turn around. "You're a restaurant manager. You don't know how to use that. The safety is still engaged."

David gasped and looked down at the gun, his thumb fumbling for the switch.

In that split second, Vincent moved.

He didn't draw a weapon. He spun, grabbed David's wrist with brutal speed, and twisted. A sickening crack echoed through the concourse. David screamed, dropping the revolver. Vincent kicked the weapon across the floor, grabbed David by the collar, and threw him forcefully into the bank of lockers.

David crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Gunfire erupted from the stairs.

"Move!" Vincent roared, grabbing my arm.

We scrambled behind a massive marble pillar as bullets chipped the stone around us. Marcus, Vincent's driver, returned fire, keeping Carlo's men pinned on the staircase. The deafening noise echoed like thunder.

Leo was crying now, terrified. "Aunt Em! Aunt Em!"

"I've got you, baby, I've got you," I cried, pressing my body over his, clutching the black ledger against my chest.

"Marcus, cover the east exit!" Vincent yelled over the gunfire. He finally drew his own weapon, looking down at me. "Emily, when I say go, you run toward the maintenance hallway on your left. Don't look back."

"I'm not leaving you," I said, panic gripping my throat.

"You have the ledger, and you have the boy," Vincent said, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned. "Thomas trusted me to keep you safe ten years ago, and I failed him. I will not fail him again. Go!"

"Go now!" Marcus shouted, laying down a barrage of covering fire.

"Go!" Vincent commanded.

I grabbed Leo's hand and ran. We sprinted across the slick marble floor, the sound of bullets tearing into the walls behind us. We crashed through the maintenance door, plunging into a dimly lit concrete corridor. I didn't stop running until my lungs burned and we burst out of a side exit onto the freezing street.

A black SUV with tinted windows immediately slammed on its brakes in front of us.

I screamed, pulling Leo back, but the back door swung open.

Eleanor DeLuca sat in the back seat.

"Get in!" she ordered.

I threw Leo into the car and dove in after him as the SUV sped away from the station. Sirens were beginning to wail in the distance.

I collapsed against the leather seat, gasping for air, clutching my terrified nephew. "Vincent," I choked out. "He's still in there. They were shooting."

"Vincent knows how to survive," Eleanor said, though her hands were gripping her purse so tightly her knuckles were white. "We have to get you to the estate."

The drive to Westchester took an agonizing forty-five minutes. My heart pounded with every passing second. Leo eventually cried himself to sleep in my lap.

When we finally pulled through the massive iron gates of the DeLuca estate, the property was swarming with armed security. The house itself was a sprawling stone mansion, beautiful but heavily fortified.

Eleanor led me inside to a warm, fire-lit study. She ordered a maid to bring hot cocoa for Leo and a blanket for me. I placed the black ledger on the mahogany desk, unable to stop shaking.

"Your father was a very brave man, Emily," Eleanor said quietly, looking at the book. "He sacrificed everything to ensure Carlo Moretti couldn't destroy anyone else."

"My father is dead," I said bitterly, the adrenaline crashing and leaving me hollow. "And now Vincent might be too."

"Do not count my son out," Eleanor said fiercely. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a beautiful, delicate object. It was a silver rosary, the beads polished smooth from years of use.

She walked over and gently pressed it into my hand.

"My husband gave me this the night Vincent was born," Eleanor said, her eyes softening. "He told me it would protect the things I loved most. I gave it to Vincent when he took over the family. He left it with me tonight because he said you might need it more."

I looked down at the rosary, overwhelmed by the gesture.

Before I could speak, the heavy study doors burst open.

Vincent walked in.

His coat was torn, and there was a dark smear of blood on his cheek, but he was alive. Marcus was right behind him, looking similarly battered.

I didn't think. I just reacted. I ran across the room and threw my arms around Vincent's neck, burying my face in his chest.

Vincent froze for a fraction of a second, completely caught off guard. Then, slowly, his large arms wrapped around my shoulders, holding me tight. He smelled of cold air and gunpowder, but he felt incredibly safe.

"I've got you," Vincent whispered into my hair. "You're safe."

"Carlo?" I asked, pulling back slightly to look at him.

"Carlo escaped when the police arrived," Vincent said, his expression hardening. "But he didn't get the ledger. We won."

"No, you didn't."

The voice came from the doorway.

We all turned. Standing there was an eight-year-old girl with dark curly hair. Mia, Vincent's daughter. She was wearing pajamas, clutching a stuffed rabbit.

But she wasn't looking at us. She was looking at the woman standing directly behind her.

It was one of Eleanor's maids. The woman who had brought the hot cocoa.