YOU CHANGED HIS BEDSHEETS, SWEETHEART. THAT DOESN'T MAKE YOU FAMILY!” THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED THE YOUNG HOUSEMAID IN FRONT OF FORTY GUESTS—BUT WHEN LUCA MORETTI HEARD HER WHISPER, “YOUR FATHER WASN'T ALONE WHEN HE DIED,” HE SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS GLASS.**

The cold steel of the gun pressed hard into my ribs, forcing the breath from my lungs.

The hospital waiting room was bustling with nurses and doctors, but nobody noticed the quiet, lethal threat happening right at the front desk. The fake agent grabbed my upper arm in a vise-like grip, guiding me smoothly away from the crowd and toward the heavy fire doors of the emergency stairwell.

“Keep walking,” he hissed in my ear.

I pushed through the heavy metal door. The stairwell was deserted, lit only by harsh, flickering fluorescent tubes. It smelled of stale air and floor wax.

Answer One: The Romanovs hadn't been completely defeated. A sleeper cell of corrupt agents was inside the hospital to recover the ledger.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice shaking uncontrollably.

“Down to the evidence lockup,” the agent said, pushing me down the concrete steps. “You’re going to use your sweet, innocent face to get the guard to open the door. Then, you hand me the ledger, and I put a bullet in your head.”

I stumbled on the stairs, my knees scraping against the rough concrete. He jerked me back up by my hair.

“Move!” he barked.

My mind raced. Luca was in the surgical wing. My mother was miles away. I was completely alone with a trained killer. But I was a nurse before I was a housemaid. I knew anatomy. I knew where humans were vulnerable.

As we reached the basement landing, I faked a trip. I collapsed onto the floor, pulling the foil emergency blanket tightly around myself.

“Get up!” the agent snarled, stepping closer and aiming the gun at my head.

“I twisted my ankle!” I cried out, clutching my leg.

He rolled his eyes and leaned down to grab my collar.

It was the only opening I was going to get.

I didn't try to punch him or fight him for the gun. I reached into the deep pocket of my scrub pants—the ones I had changed into from my maid uniform earlier—and pulled out the small, heavy brass key Antonio Moretti had given me.

With every ounce of strength I had, I drove the jagged teeth of the brass key directly into the soft, unprotected flesh of his carotid artery on the side of his neck.

The agent screamed, a horrible, wet sound. He dropped the gun, his hands flying to his throat as blood spurted between his fingers. He staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock.

I didn't wait to see him fall. I scrambled across the concrete floor, grabbed the suppressed pistol he had dropped, and pointed it at him with shaking hands.

He collapsed against the concrete wall, sliding down to the floor, gasping for air as he bled out.

I stood there, panting, the gun heavy in my hands. I had just killed a man. The sheer horror of it washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by a fierce, undeniable survival instinct.

I turned and ran down the basement corridor toward the evidence lockup.

If there was one mole in the FBI, there could be more. I needed to get the ledger and destroy the pages before the rest of the Romanov cartel found it.

Open Two: What was the second secret Antonio Moretti hid in the ledger? And who sent the text message?

I reached the evidence room. The heavy steel door was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open, raising the gun.

The real FBI evidence clerk was unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a blow to the head.

And standing at the metal table, flipping through Antonio’s leather-bound ledger, was a woman.

She wore a crisp, tailored suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

She turned around as I entered.

I dropped the gun in absolute, paralyzing shock.

The woman standing in front of me, holding the mafia ledger, was Dr. Evelyn Reed. The head administrator of the private hospice where my mother was receiving care. The woman I had worked for for three years.

“Hello, Caroline,” Dr. Reed said calmly, closing the ledger.

Reversal: The threat wasn't coming from the Romanovs anymore. The person pulling the strings was my own former boss.

“Dr. Reed?” I whispered, my mind shattering into a million pieces. “What are you doing here? Did you send the text message?”

“I did,” she smiled, a cold, clinical expression. “I couldn't let the FBI read the final page. Antonio paid your mother three million dollars to hide Vanessa’s son, yes. But he paid me five million to hide the other child.”

She walked toward me, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

“You see, Caroline,” Dr. Reed said, stopping inches from my face. “Antonio’s sister didn't die of an illness when she was a little girl. She had a child out of wedlock. A beautiful baby girl. Antonio couldn't stand the scandal. So he paid me to erase her existence and place her with a nice, quiet, desperate nurse who couldn't have children of her own.”

The room began to spin. The air was sucked from my lungs.

“No,” I gasped, backing away.