For fourteen days, Chicago’s most feared mafia boss watched helplessly as his premature son screamed whenever anyone touched him. Doctors tried everything.

We drove in silence, the heavy armored SUV cutting through the desolate industrial district near the river.

Daniel had made three phone calls. Short, cryptic commands. He was mobilizing the men who were loyal to him, not the family. The men who bled for Daniel Russo, not Silas.

I sat in the back, holding Leo. I couldn’t stop staring at the baby’s chest, watching the steady, tiny rise and fall of his breathing.

A heart murmur. Silas had murdered Camille and ordered a hit on a newborn baby over a heart murmur. It was a level of cruelty I couldn’t comprehend.

“We’re ten minutes out,” Daniel said, glancing at the rearview mirror. “When we get there, you stay in the car. It’s bulletproof. Do not unlock the doors for anyone except me.”

“If Silas wants me, staying in the car won’t help Michael,” I argued, my voice shaking but firm.

“Silas wants leverage,” Daniel corrected. “He doesn’t care about you. He cares about Leo. If he gets Leo, he kills you, he kills Michael, and he kills me. The only way this ends is with Silas dead.”

He pulled the car into a narrow alley behind an abandoned shipping yard. Huge metal containers were stacked five high, creating a labyrinth of rusted steel and shadows.

Daniel parked. He left the engine running to keep the heat on for Leo.

He turned around and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a heavy, custom gold lighter. He handed it to me.

“It’s heavy,” I said.

“It’s an emergency beacon,” Daniel explained. “If I don’t come back in twenty minutes, or if someone breaches this alley, press the button on the bottom twice. It will send a signal to a man named Marcus. He will come for you, and he will get you and the baby out of the country. He’s the only one left I trust.”

I took the cold metal in my hand. “Daniel—”

“Do not open the door, Rachel,” he interrupted, his eyes burning with intensity. “Keep my son safe.”

He stepped out into the rain, the heavy door thudding shut behind him, sealing me in absolute silence.

I watched him disappear into the shadows of the shipping containers.

The minutes crawled. One. Five. Ten.

Leo started to fuss. I gently rocked him, humming the soft lullaby that had worked in the hospital. He quieted down, his tiny hand wrapping around my index finger.

Twelve minutes.

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the alley. A gunshot.

Then, a rapid volley of automatic fire.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I ducked down below the window line, shielding Leo with my body. The gunfire continued, echoing off the metal containers, making it impossible to tell how far away it was.

Fifteen minutes.

The shooting stopped. The silence that followed was worse than the noise.

Then, I heard footsteps.

Heavy boots splashing in the puddles outside the SUV.

I tightened my grip on the gold lighter. I peered over the edge of the window.

A man in a dark trench coat was walking toward the car. It wasn’t Daniel.

He stopped at the driver’s side window and tapped the glass with the barrel of an assault rifle.

“Open it up, nurse,” the man shouted, his voice muffled through the armor.

I didn’t move. I pressed my thumb against the bottom of the lighter. Ready to press twice.

The man sighed, raised the rifle, and fired a burst directly at my window.

The bulletproof glass webbed and cracked, white spiderwebs exploding across my vision, but the glass held. The sound was deafening inside the cabin. Leo woke up and started screaming.

“Next one goes through the hinges!” the man yelled.

Before he could aim again, a figure stepped out of the shadows behind him.

It was Michael.

My brother was covered in blood, his face a bruised mess, but his eyes were wide and feral. He swung a heavy iron pipe, striking the gunman in the back of the knees. The man buckled. Michael didn’t hesitate. He swung again, hitting the man in the head. The gunman collapsed into the mud.

Michael limped to the door and hit the glass with his bloody palm.

“Rachel! Open the door!”

I unlocked it immediately.

Michael pulled the heavy door open and collapsed into the back seat, gasping for air.

“Michael!” I cried out, grabbing his face. He was burning up.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he choked out, staring at the baby in my arms. “You kept him safe. Thank God.”

“Where is Daniel?” I asked in panic.

Michael’s expression turned dark. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a child’s ultrasound photo. The paper was crumpled and stained with blood.

“Daniel is pinned down in warehouse three,” Michael gasped. “But Silas isn’t the one shooting at him.”

I stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Michael handed me the ultrasound photo.

“Silas is dead,” Michael said, coughing up a spatter of blood. “I watched him die. He didn’t order the hit on Camille.”

My blood ran cold. “Then who did?”

I turned the ultrasound photo over. Written on the back, in elegant, familiar handwriting, was a note:

To my beautiful sister. Thank you for protecting my secret. - Camille.

I looked at Michael in horror. “Sister?”

“Camille wasn’t an only child,” Michael whispered, his eyes filled with terror. “She had a younger sister. A sister who wanted Daniel’s empire for herself.”

Before I could process the words, the passenger door of the SUV was ripped open.

Standing there, holding a suppressed pistol, was a woman with blonde hair and eyes as cold as ice.