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 silence in the penthouse was absolute, broken only by the sound of the rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I stared at Mark, the man I had loved. The man I had cried over for years. He was kneeling on the expensive rug, bleeding and begging, looking nothing like the confident boy who used to kiss me on the fire escape of my tiny apartment.

"You're Silas's son," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

"He kept me hidden," Mark pleaded, keeping his hands raised as Roman’s gun remained fixed on his chest. "I grew up in boarding schools. He didn't want me in the life. But when I met you... when we fell in love, he found out. He recognized you, Lena."

"Recognized me from what?"

"From the night you were taken," Roman interrupted, his voice cold as steel. "Silas knew exactly who you were. He knew Evelyn had you."

"Yes," Mark choked out. "He told me if I didn't leave you, he would kill you. He showed me a picture of you walking to work. He had the crosshairs of a rifle over your chest. I had to leave, Lena. I didn't know you were pregnant. I swear to God."

"Shut up," Roman snapped. He didn't take his eyes off Mark, but he spoke to Patricia. "Check him for wires. Check him for explosives."

Patricia moved swiftly, patting Mark down with ruthless efficiency. "He's clean."

I turned my back to Mark, feeling physically sick. The betrayal was too deep, too convoluted. My whole life had been a chess game played by men I didn't even know.

I looked toward the bedroom doorway. Josie was standing there, rubbing her sleepy eyes, holding the doorframe.

"Mommy?" she mumbled. "Who is that man?"

Mark gasped. He tried to stand up, his eyes locked on the little girl he had never met. "Josie. Oh my god. She looks just like..."

"Don't look at her," I snarled, stepping in front of Josie to block his view. A fierce, primal rage ignited in my chest. "Don't you dare look at her."

Behind me, Margaret Vale made a sharp, sudden noise.

I turned. The old woman was leaning forward in her wheelchair, her trembling hand reaching into the pocket of her pale-blue cardigan. She pulled out a rosary.

It was beautiful. Black wooden beads separated by small silver knots, heavily worn from years of prayer.

She held it out to me.

I hesitated, then stepped forward and took it. The wood was warm from her hands.

"Mrs. Vale?" I asked softly.

Margaret tapped the armrest. Three. Two. One.

Then she pointed to the rosary.

I looked down at the beads. I ran my thumb over them. That was when I realized they weren't uniform. Some of the beads were slightly larger, grouped in distinct patterns.

Three large beads. Two small ones. One large one.

"It's the rhythm," I whispered.

Roman lowered his gun slightly, glancing at the rosary. "What?"

"The tapping game," I said, looking up at him. "It isn't just a song to comfort a child. It's a code. Evelyn had a rosary just like this. She kept it by her bed, but it was missing the silver cross at the bottom."

Margaret nodded frantically. She reached out and touched the bottom of her rosary. The heavy silver cross dangled from a tiny, intricate clasp.

With shaking fingers, she undid the clasp.

The cross fell into my palm. It was surprisingly heavy. I turned it over.

There was a tiny hinge on the side.

I pried it open. Inside the hollowed-out cross was a perfectly preserved, miniature photograph, folded into a tight square.

I unfolded it carefully.

It was a picture of three people, standing on a dock in the summertime. They looked young, maybe in their twenties.

One was Margaret, radiant and smiling.

One was Silas, looking handsome and fiercely protective, his arm wrapped around Margaret’s waist.

And the third person...

I gasped. "That's Evelyn."

But she wasn't wearing a maid's uniform. She was wearing a beautiful silk dress, and she was leaning her head on Silas’s shoulder.

"Evelyn wasn't the nanny," I breathed, looking at Roman. "She was Silas's wife."

Mark let out a choked sob from the floor. "She was my mother."

The room spun. I looked at Mark, then at the photo, then at Roman.

"If Evelyn was your mother," I said to Mark, "and Silas is your father... then Evelyn didn't steal me. She rescued me. And she ran away from her own husband."

"Silas went mad," Roman said, stepping closer to look at the photograph. "When my father took over the family, Silas felt betrayed. He thought the empire should have been his. He decided to take it by force. He broke into the nursery to kill me and my sister to end the bloodline."

"But Evelyn stopped him," I realized. "She shot him. She took me and ran."

"And left me behind," Mark wept. "She took you, Lena. But she left her own son with a monster."

Margaret let out a low, anguished sound. She reached out, grasping my hand. Her eyes were filled with tears, but they were also filled with an urgent, desperate fire.

She pointed to the silver cross in my hand. Then she pointed to the door.

"She's saying there's more," Patricia translated, stepping closer. "Margaret, where is the rest of it?"

Margaret tapped the rhythm again, then made a motion like she was putting something on her shoulders. Pulling a collar up against the cold.

"A coat," I said. "Evelyn's winter coat. The one she wore the night she died. She never let me throw it away or wash it. She said it was her lucky coat. I still have it. It's in my apartment."

Roman looked at Patricia. "Send a team to Lena’s apartment. Tear the place apart if you have to. Find that coat."

"We can't," Patricia said grimly. "Silas has men watching her building. If we send soldiers, it'll turn into a war zone."

"Then I'll go," I said.

"Absolutely not," Roman snapped.

"They aren't looking for me to come back," I argued. "They think I'm hiding. If I go through the alley, up the fire escape... I can get in and out before they even know I'm there."

"I said no, Lena. I'm not risking your life for a coat."

"It's not just a coat!" I shouted, the frustration finally boiling over. "It's the truth! It's why my mother—my real mother—lost her baby. It's why Evelyn died in a freezing apartment instead of a hospital! I am getting that coat."

Roman stared at me. He saw the absolute resolve in my eyes. He knew he couldn't stop me without locking me in a room.

"Fine," Roman said quietly. "But you aren't going alone."

Before I could process his agreement, a massive explosion rocked the building.

The floor-to-ceiling windows shattered inward in a tidal wave of glass and rain. The shockwave threw me to the floor, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Patricia scream.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, spitting blood from a cut on my lip.

Helicopter blades chopped the air outside the broken windows. Ropes dropped into the living room, and men in tactical gear began sliding through the shattered glass.

They weren't the Feds.

"They're Silas's men!" Patricia yelled, pulling her weapon and firing.

Roman grabbed me by the collar, hauling me to my feet and shoving me behind a marble pillar.

"Take Josie and my mother to the panic room!" Roman roared over the gunfire. "Now, Lena!"

I scrambled toward the bedroom, my heart pounding in my throat. But as I reached the doorway, a heavy hand grabbed my hair, yanking me backward.

I screamed, falling hard onto my back.

A masked man stood over me, raising the butt of his rifle.