THE MOMENT THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A NOSY LITTLE COAT GIRL,” THE ENTIRE MANHATTAN PENTHOUSE WENT SILENT—BECAUSE I HAD JUST REFUSED TO HAND HIM THE JACKET HE WAS ABOUT TO WEAR HOME. For two seconds, nobody said anything.

The armored SUV tore through the midnight streets of Manhattan, the snow turning into a blinding squall.

I sat in the passenger seat, wearing Dante’s ruined black overcoat over my uniform because I hadn't brought a jacket of my own. It smelled like him, thick and protective.

Sofia was in the back seat, furiously texting her contacts in Switzerland. Dante had told her to stay behind, but she had refused. Her daughter was leverage, and she wasn't going to sit in a penthouse waiting for permission.

“The old shipping yard in Brooklyn,” Dante said, navigating the icy roads with one hand. “My father used it in the nineties. It’s been abandoned for years.”

“Why would my father go there?” I asked.

“Because it’s where he buried the ledger before Marco dug it up,” Dante replied. “Marco is playing a dangerous game. He stole the ledger to sell out the New York families to Chicago. But he lost it.”

“How do you lose a book of blackmail?” Sofia asked from the back.

“Because Arturo stole it back before he disappeared,” Dante said. “And Marco just found out Arturo is still alive.”

My heart stopped. “My dad is alive?”

“He’s the one who grabbed your mother from the clinic,” Dante said gently. “To protect her from Marco’s men. He’s trying to trade the ledger for Sofia’s daughter and your mother’s freedom.”

We pulled up to the rusted gates of the Brooklyn shipping yard. The snow was falling heavy now, covering the tracks of vehicles that had clearly arrived before us.

Dante pulled a sleek handgun from the center console. He looked at me.

“Stay in the car.”

“No.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “That’s my family in there.”

He studied my face for a long second. He didn't argue. He just handed me a smaller pistol from the glovebox. “Safety is on the left. Don't point it at anything you aren't prepared to kill.”

We moved through the driving snow, slipping between towering, rusted shipping containers.

The main warehouse door was partially open, spilling weak yellow light onto the snow.

We crept inside. It was massive, smelling of diesel and seawater.

It was also completely empty.

No cars. No men. No father.

“We’re too late,” Sofia sobbed softly, covering her mouth.

I walked toward the center of the concrete floor. There was a single wooden chair.

Resting on the seat of the chair was a set of bright blue beads.

I reached out and picked them up. My fingers brushed the familiar worn silver cross.

“My mother’s rosary,” I whispered.

I turned the cross over. The beads weren't broken. They were tied into a specific knot.

“What is it?” Dante asked, stepping up behind me.

“My mother used to tie her apron strings like this when the shop was closed, but she was still inside working.” I looked at Dante. “She’s telling me she’s safe, but she’s hiding.”

I looked down at the chair again.

Tucked beneath the splintered wood of the seat was a folded piece of paper.

I pulled it out and opened it.

It wasn't a note. It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on construction paper. A picture of a yellow house with a crooked chimney.

My breath caught in my throat.

“I drew this,” I said, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. “I was seven. It used to hang on the wall of my mother’s dry cleaning shop.”

Dante looked at the drawing. “They’re not in Brooklyn.”

“No,” I said. “They’re in Queens.”

Suddenly, the heavy metal warehouse doors slammed shut behind us, plunging us into total darkness.