THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE PINK COAT

I sprinted up the grand mahogany staircase, my shoes slipping on the polished wood. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The estate was massive, and I could hear Olivia’s guards tearing through the guest rooms on the east wing, smashing furniture in their frantic search for Lily and Marco.

I reached the end of the second-floor hallway and unlocked the yellow room.

I slipped inside and locked the door behind me.

Marco was still lying on the ivory rug. He was unconscious, his skin deathly pale, the pool of blood beneath him having grown significantly larger.

“Marco,” I whispered, dropping to my knees. I slapped his cheek gently. “Marco, wake up. Please.”

He groaned, his dark eyes fluttering open. They were glassy, unfocused.

“Catherine... you’re still here.” His voice was a raspy, barely audible breath.

“I’m not leaving you,” I said fiercely.

I tore the bedsheet from the child’s canopy bed and pressed a thick wad of cotton against his gunshot wound. He hissed in pain, his jaw clenching tight.

“Vincent is the traitor,” I told him quickly. “He’s working with Olivia. I locked him in the wine cellar, but his men are tearing the house apart.”

Marco’s eyes widened, a flash of pure, devastated betrayal cutting through the haze of pain.

“Vincent...” he choked out. “He swore on his mother’s grave.”

“He lied.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the heavy gold signet ring I had found in Vincent’s leather coat. I held it up so Marco could see the crest. “I found this in his pocket, Marco. The Commission.”

Marco stared at the ring, his breathing suddenly turning rapid and shallow.

“They approved the hit,” Marco whispered, terror finally entering his voice. Not for himself, but for me. “If the Commission gave Vincent that ring, it means the Godfather of New York sanctioned the takeover. Catherine... they are going to kill everyone in this house tonight. You have to run.”

“No.”

“Listen to me!” He grabbed my bloody hand with surprising strength. “There is a panic room behind my study in the basement. Go down the back servants' stairs. Get Lily, lock yourselves inside, and do not come out until the FBI breaches the house. I triggered a silent alarm to the feds before I passed out.”

I stared at him. He had called the FBI. A mafia boss calling the feds meant he was willing to go to federal prison for the rest of his life, just to guarantee my safety.

“I’m not leaving you here to die,” I sobbed, the tears finally breaking free.

“I am already dead, Catherine,” he whispered, reaching up to wipe a tear from my cheek, smearing his own blood on my skin. “I broke our vows. I brought this violence to your door. The only way I can make it right is by buying you enough time to escape.”

Heavy footsteps thudded in the hallway outside the yellow room.

“Check this door!” a gruff voice yelled.

Someone grabbed the brass doorknob and rattled it violently.

“It’s locked! Stand back, I’m kicking it in!”

I panicked. I looked around the room. There were no weapons. Nowhere to hide Marco’s massive frame.

Then, a soft scratching sound came from the wall behind the child’s dresser.

I spun around.

The small, wooden panel of the dumbwaiter shaft pushed open.

Little Lily peeked her head out. She was pale, clutching her stuffed rabbit, tears streaming down her face.

“Mama Catherine?” she whispered.

My heart completely shattered. She had called me Mama. Not out of confusion, but out of a desperate, terrifying need for comfort.

I rushed over to the shaft. “Lily, stay inside. You have to stay hidden.”

But Marco heard her voice. He forced his head up, looking at his daughter with an agony so profound it stole the breath from my lungs.

“Lily,” Marco gasped.

Lily saw him. She saw the blood on the ivory rug.

She let out a piercing, terrified scream. “Daddy!”

BANG!

The bedroom door exploded inward, the wood splintering as one of Olivia’s massive guards kicked it off its hinges.

The guard rushed into the room, leveling an assault rifle directly at us.

“Nobody move!” he bellowed.

I threw my body instinctively over Lily, shielding her small frame with my own.

Olivia strolled into the room seconds later.

She looked at Marco bleeding on the floor, then at me, and finally at Lily.

Her lips curled into a wicked, victorious smile.

“Well, well,” Olivia purred, stepping carefully over the splintered wood. “A touching family portrait.”

Marco tried to push himself up, his eyes blazing with absolute hatred. “If you touch them, Olivia, I swear to God I will tear you apart.”

Olivia laughed. She walked over to Marco and kicked him hard in his wounded side.

Marco collapsed, screaming in agony.

“Stop it!” I shrieked, lunging at her.

The guard grabbed me by the hair, yanking me back so violently I fell to the floor beside Marco.

“You talk too much, Marco,” Olivia sneered, pulling a small silver pistol from her coat pocket and aiming it down at my husband’s head. “But don't worry. Your reign is over. And my daughter will forget you ever existed.”

Lily was sobbing hysterically in the dumbwaiter shaft, covering her eyes.

Olivia cocked the hammer of her pistol.

“Goodbye, Marco.”

Suddenly, a deep, booming voice echoed from the hallway, freezing everyone in the room.

“Put the gun down, Olivia.”

Olivia froze.

The guard lowered his rifle.

Stepping into the yellow bedroom was an elderly man in a bespoke three-piece suit, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane. He was flanked by four men who looked more lethal than anyone I had ever seen.

It was Don Salvatore.