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 gunfire abruptly stopped.

The remaining tactical soldiers, seeing their leader dead and facing heavy fire from Mark, Roman, and Silas, retreated down the hallway.

The sudden silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and Mark’s wet, ragged coughs.

Mark dropped the rifle and slid down the doorframe, clutching his stomach.

I crawled across the floor, ignoring the glass cutting into my knees. "Mark. Mark, stay with me."

I pressed my hands against his bleeding stomach, trying to apply pressure. He looked up at me, his eyes unfocused, a faint, sad smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Lena," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I left."

Silas limped over, dropping heavily to his knees beside his son. The ruthless mafia boss was crying openly, grabbing Mark's face. "You idiot. I told you to run. I told you to get out of the city."

"I couldn't leave her again, Dad," Mark choked out. "I couldn't."

I looked around the destroyed apartment. Roman was slumped against the kitchen island, reloading his gun with one hand, his face pale from blood loss. Margaret was sitting on the floor, holding Josie tightly against her chest, rocking the terrified child back and forth.

We were cornered. We were bleeding out. And the Commission would send more men.

"Roman," I said, my voice trembling. "They have the micro-SD card. The money."

Roman shook his head, wincing in pain. "It doesn't matter. The money was never the prize. It was the leverage. Without it, the Commission has no reason to let any of us live."

"We need the ledger," Silas rasped, applying pressure to his own leg wound. "The one I planted in the child's bag. It proves the Commission ordered the hit on Arthur. It’s our only bargaining chip."

"It's gone," Roman said bitterly. "It blew up in the backpack."

I froze.

My mind flashed back to the pawnshop. To Evelyn trading the silver comb. To the Feds raiding the safehouse.

"Wait," I breathed. "The ledger wasn't in the comb."

Everyone looked at me.

"What are you talking about?" Roman demanded.

"Evelyn didn't just sell the comb," I said, my heart hammering in my chest. "She sold it because she needed the money. But she would never, ever pawn the ledger if she knew it could destroy the people who wanted us dead. She wouldn't trust a pawnbroker with it."

"Then where is it?" Silas asked.

I looked at Margaret.

Margaret stared back at me. She slowly reached into the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out the silver cross from her rosary. The one containing the photograph of her, Silas, and Evelyn.

She held it out to me.

"The photo," I whispered.

I took the tiny, folded square of paper. I had looked at the image. But I hadn't looked at the back.

With shaking hands, I unfolded the photograph completely.

The back of the glossy paper was covered in tiny, meticulous handwriting. It wasn't just numbers. It was names. Dates. Account numbers. Locations of bodies. The entire history of the Commission's betrayal against the Vale family, written by Arthur Vale before he died.

Evelyn had hidden the real ledger on the back of the photograph, sealed inside the rosary she gave to Margaret before she ran.

"We have it," I said, looking at Roman. "We have the proof."

Roman pushed himself off the counter. He walked over, taking the photograph from my hands. He read the names, his eyes widening.

"This is it," Roman said, a lethal edge returning to his voice. "This is enough to burn the Commission to the ground."

Suddenly, a heavy, metallic voice boomed from the street outside. A megaphone.

"Roman Vale. Silas Vale. This is the Chicago Police Department, working in conjunction with federal authorities. The building is surrounded. Come out with your hands up."

Silas let out a dark, bitter laugh. "The police. Half of them are on the Commission's payroll. If we walk out there, we'll be shot resisting arrest."

"If we stay," Roman said, "they'll breach the building and kill everyone inside. Including the child."

I looked at Josie. She was crying silently, her face buried in Margaret's neck.

I couldn't let her die here.

I stood up. I wiped the blood from my face.

"Give me the photo," I said to Roman.

Roman frowned. "No. Lena, you're not walking out there."

"They don't know who I am," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I'm just a temporary maid who got caught in the crossfire. A single mother in a cheap coat. If I walk out with Josie, with my hands up, in front of all those cameras, they can't shoot us. It’s too public."

"Lena, it's a suicide mission," Mark pleaded from the floor.

"No, it's not," I said, snatching the photograph from Roman's hand. I slipped it into Josie's shoe, pushing it flat against the sole. "Because I'm not giving it to the corrupt cops. I'm giving it to the press."

I looked at Roman. "There are news vans outside, right? They follow police scanners. A shootout on the South Side involving the Vales? The press is already here."

Roman stared at me, seeing the steel in my eyes. The same steel Evelyn had possessed when she took a baby and ran into the night.

"You walk out," Roman instructed, his voice thick with emotion. "You scream for the cameras. You find the nearest reporter broadcasting live, and you hand them the photo. Once it's live on the air, the Commission can't touch us."

I nodded. I knelt down and pulled Josie into my arms.

"Josie," I said, looking into her terrified eyes. "We're going to play a game. We're going to walk out the front door, and no matter what happens, you hold onto Mommy's hand. Okay?"

She nodded bravely.

I looked back at Margaret. She raised her hand.

Three taps on her chest. Two on her heart. One on her lips.

I love you.