A gun pressed against my temple while Chicago’s most feared Mafia boss bled out beneath my hands, and his enforcer whispered, “If his heart stops, yours stops with it.” Instead of begging, I shoved the weapon away and snapped, “Then get out of my light before you kill him yourself.”

"Move!" Dante roared, grabbing my arm and snatching the ledger and the vial of poison from the table.

We burst out of the vault alcove just as the heavy steel security gates at the end of the corridor began to descend. Dante hurled his body forward, shoving me underneath the descending gate just before it hit the floor, sliding under right behind me with lethal athleticism.

The elevator was locked out.

"Stairs!" Dante shouted, drawing his Beretta.

We tore up the concrete emergency stairwell. Gunfire erupted above us—sharp, deafening cracks echoing down the concrete shaft.

*Matteo.*

We reached the second basement landing when the heavy steel door kicked open. Two men in tactical vests and balaclavas raised submachine guns.

Dante didn't hesitate.

*BANG. BANG.*

Two rounds struck the first shooter center-mass before he could pull the trigger. Dante spun, using his uninjured arm to whip his weapon across the second shooter's jaw, sending him crashing into the concrete stairs, then put a single round through his chest.

I pressed my back against the wall, clutching my mother’s journal to my chest, my ears ringing violently. I was a healer. I spent my life stitching flesh back together. Seeing lives snuffed out in fractions of a second made my stomach violently churn.

Dante turned to me, his slate eyes wild, checking me head to toe. "You hit?"

"N-no! I'm fine!"

He grabbed my hand, his grip crushing, reassuring. "Stay behind me, Stella. No matter what happens."

We burst through the ground-floor exit into the service alley behind LaSalle Street. Rain was pouring down in blinding sheets. Matteo was already there, leaning against our bullet-riddled Mercedes, holding a smoking assault rifle. Three bodies in tactical gear lay sprawled in the alleyway behind him.

"Luca moved faster than we thought, Boss!" Matteo yelled over the downpour. "They had a surveillance wire on the bank’s outer network!"

"Get us out of here!" Dante shoved me into the back seat, diving in after me as Matteo slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The Mercedes fishtailed out of the alley, tires shrieking on the wet asphalt, rocketing into the Chicago traffic just as a black van turned the corner, spraying automatic gunfire down the brick corridor. Bullets ricocheted off our reinforced rear glass with deafening spiderweb fractures.

Inside the car, I was gasping for air, trembling from the sheer surge of terror.

Dante pulled me roughly into his side, wrapping his strong arm around my shoulders, shielding me with his own body until the gunfire faded into the distance.

"It's over," he murmured into my hair, his chest heaving against mine. "You're safe. I've got you."

Slowly, I pulled back, looking down at the blood-stained ledger in my lap.

"Evan Mercer killed your father," I whispered, the reality crashing down on me. "And he helped kill my mother."

"Your mother tried to blow the whistle," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying calm. "She went to Luca thinking he was the loyal brother who would help her bring the assassin to justice. She didn't know Luca was the mastermind. Luca used Mercer to orchestrate her car crash."

"And two nights ago," I realized, tears of rage burning behind my eyelids, "Mercer deliberately traded shifts with me so that when Dante bled out on my table, Luca could frame me as Catherine Caroline’s daughter seeking revenge on the Rossi family!"

"A poetic frame job," Dante said darkly. "It would have cleared Luca of suspicion, united the syndicate under his rule, and buried the truth forever."

He reached out, his thumb gently wiping rain and tears from my cheek. His eyes held a promise of absolute destruction.

"Tomorrow night is the annual Rossi Foundation Charity Gala at the Chicago Cultural Center," Dante said, glancing at Matteo in the rearview mirror. "Every capo, every politician, and every rival family in the Midwest will be there. Luca thinks I'm dead or hiding in Wisconsin."

Dante leaned in, his gaze burning into mine with an intoxicating mix of danger and devotion.