THE OTHER MAIDS SENT ME TO THE MAFIA BOSS’S SILENT MOTHER TO GET ME FIRED—BUT WHEN SHE TAPPED THREE TIMES ON MY WRIST, I ANSWERED WITH A SECRET I WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO KNOW. The first time Margaret Vale touched my hand, three housekeepers were standing outside the conservatory, waiting for me to make a fool of myself.

The ride to Josie’s school was a blur of rain and terror.

Roman drove. He had dismissed his driver at the cemetery gates, taking the wheel of the town car himself. The engine roared as we tore through the slick Chicago streets, running red lights with a calculated ruthlessness that terrified me almost as much as the phone call.

I sat in the passenger seat, my hands gripping the dashboard.

"How did he find her?" I gasped, my chest tightening with every breath. "I've only worked at your house for one morning. Nobody knows about Josie."

"They don't need to know about the job, Lena," Roman said. His voice was frighteningly calm, the calm of a man who dealt in violence every day. "If this is who I think it is, they’ve been watching you for a very long time. Waiting for the right moment."

"Who? Who is watching us?"

Roman gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "My father's brother. Silas."

"Why would your uncle want my daughter?"

"He doesn't want your daughter," Roman said, taking a hard left turn that threw me against the door. "He wants leverage. Twenty-nine years ago, Silas claimed he found Evelyn trying to smother you in your crib. He said Evelyn shot him in the shoulder and ran into the night with you."

"That's a lie," I whispered, thinking of my mother’s gentle hands.

"I know it is," Roman replied. "Because if Silas had caught her, Evelyn wouldn't have escaped. He let her go. Or he forced her to leave. And whatever the truth is, Silas knows that my mother recognizing you today just destroyed his entire narrative."

We slammed to a halt in front of the elementary school.

I didn't wait for the car to fully stop. I threw the door open and sprinted through the rain toward the main office. Roman was right behind me, his heavy overcoat billowing in the wind.

I burst through the double doors.

Josie was sitting in a plastic chair near the secretary's desk. Her small legs swung back and forth. She was clutching her faded yellow backpack against her chest.

"Josie!" I sobbed, dropping to my knees in front of her.

"Mommy!" She threw her arms around my neck. Her little body was trembling.

I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. "Are you okay, baby? Did he hurt you?"

"No," Josie mumbled into my shoulder. "He was wearing a nice suit. Like the man behind you."

I looked up. Roman stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the exit. He was scanning the room, the hallway, the windows, looking for any sign of a threat. The secretary stared at him, intimidated by the sudden, overwhelming presence of a man who clearly didn't belong in an elementary school.

"What did he say to you, Josie?" Roman asked gently, crouching down to her eye level.

Josie looked at him, then at me. "He asked if my mommy still tapped her fingers on the table when it rains. I told him yes. Then he gave me something."

"What did he give you, sweetie?" I asked, my voice shaking.

Josie unzipped the front pocket of her backpack. She reached her small hand inside and pulled out a folded piece of thick, textured paper.

She handed it to Roman.

I watched Roman's face as he unfolded the paper. The lethal calm cracked. For a fraction of a second, raw, unfiltered devastation flashed in his dark eyes.

"Mr. Vale?" I whispered. "What is it?"

He turned the paper around so I could see it.

It was a child's drawing. Crayon on heavy stock paper. It depicted a tall house with black windows, a woman in a blue dress, and two children holding hands. A boy and a baby girl.

In the bottom right corner, written in clumsy, blocky letters, it said: For Elena. Love, Roman.

"I drew this," Roman said, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't name. "I drew this the day before you were taken. I slipped it under your crib mattress."

My breath caught. "He kept it? For twenty-nine years?"

"He didn't just keep it," Roman said softly, pointing to the back of the drawing.

I leaned closer. On the back, written in fresh, black ink, was a single sentence:

Bring the girl and the child to the warehouse on 9th, or I will finish what I started in the nursery.

A cold sweat broke out on my neck. "We have to go to the police."

"The police can't stop Silas," Roman said, standing up. He folded the drawing and slipped it into his breast pocket. "Half the precinct reports to him. If you go to the cops, Lena, you and Josie will disappear before midnight."

"Then what do we do?"

"We leave. Now." Roman looked at the secretary. "She was never here today. Erase the security footage. If anyone asks, Lena Brooks pulled her daughter out of school yesterday and moved out of state."

The secretary swallowed hard, nodding quickly. She knew who he was. Everyone in Chicago knew who the Vales were.

I scooped Josie into my arms. She was too big to carry, but I couldn't bear to let her feet touch the ground. Roman placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding us out of the office and back into the pouring rain.

We hurried to the town car. Roman opened the back door.

I buckled Josie in, my hands shaking so badly I could barely manage the seatbelt.

"Mommy, why are we in a fancy car?" Josie asked, her big brown eyes wide with confusion.

"We're just taking a ride, baby," I lied, kissing her forehead. "Everything is fine."

I closed the door and turned to get into the passenger seat.

But Roman stopped me. His hand wrapped around my wrist. The grip was firm, but not painful.

"Lena."

I looked up at him. The rain was plastering his dark hair to his forehead.

"When Silas approached Josie," Roman said quietly, "did she say he touched her?"

"No. She just said he gave her the drawing."

Roman’s jaw tightened. "Silas is a butcher. He doesn't do things cleanly. He leaves a mark."

He opened the back door again. "Josie. Did the nice man touch your backpack?"

Josie nodded slowly. "He helped me zip it up."

Roman’s eyes widened. He lunged across me, reaching into the backseat. He grabbed Josie’s yellow backpack and yanked it out of the car.

"Roman, what are you doing?" I cried.

"Get in the car! Get your head down!"

He threw the backpack as hard as he could toward the empty baseball field across the street. It sailed through the rain in a high arc.

Before it even hit the ground, a deafening explosion shattered the afternoon air.

The shockwave knocked me backward into the side of the car. The windows of the school rattled violently. A plume of black smoke and fire erupted from the wet grass where the backpack had landed.

I screamed, covering my ears.

Josie was crying hysterically in the backseat.

Roman grabbed my waist, shoving me into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut. He jumped behind the wheel, throwing the car into gear. Tires screamed against the wet pavement as we tore away from the curb.

I turned around in my seat, staring out the back window at the burning crater in the baseball field.

He had put a bomb in my seven-year-old daughter's backpack.

I looked at Roman. His profile was carved from stone, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

"He's not trying to get us to the warehouse," Roman said, his voice deadly quiet over the sound of Josie's crying. "He's trying to eliminate the problem."

I reached back, grabbing Josie's trembling hand.