BENEATH THE MONSTER’S BED

Roman tackled Maya to the linoleum floor just as the window shattered. Bullets tore through the tiny apartment, shredding the couch and obliterating the framed photo of David.

"Crawl!" Roman yelled, grabbing the collar of her uniform and dragging her toward the hallway.

They scrambled out the back door, sprinting down the narrow back stairwell of the apartment building. The rain was coming down in sheets now. They ducked into an abandoned storefront across the street, watching as three black SUVs surrounded Maya’s building.

"My life is gone," Maya sobbed, sliding down the brick wall. "Because of David. Because of you."

"I'm going to fix this," Roman said fiercely, his hand clamped over his bleeding shoulder. "But first, I have to get to her."

"Her?" Maya looked up. "Who?"

"The reason my father wants me dead," Roman said.

An hour later, they were in the suburbs, standing outside a modest, unlisted ranch house in Oak Park. Roman punched a code into the heavy steel door.

Inside, the house was silent. Too silent.

Roman drew his gun, moving down the hallway with terrifying speed. Maya followed closely, terrified of what they would find.

In the kitchen, they found the nanny. She was tied to a chair, unconscious but breathing, a nasty bruise on her forehead.

"Elara!" Roman shouted, panic cracking his iron facade for the first time. "Elara!"

A small closet door beneath the stairs creaked open. A little girl, no older than five, with wildly curly dark hair and tear-stained cheeks, peeked out. She was clutching a worn teddy bear.

Roman dropped to his knees, throwing his gun aside, and pulled the little girl into a desperate, crushing hug. "I've got you, Ellie. I'm here."

Maya watched, her heart aching. The monster of Chicago was crying into a little girl's hair.

"Is this your daughter?" Maya asked softly.

Roman pulled back, smoothing the girl's hair. "She's my sister's daughter. My sister died giving birth to her. My father... my father believes women are meant to be sold. He was planning to arrange a marriage for her to a Russian cartel boss the moment she turned eighteen to secure a shipping route."

Maya felt violently sick. "She’s five."

"I took her," Roman said. "I hid her. That's why he froze my accounts. That's why he blew up my hotel room."

Elara looked at Maya with massive, frightened eyes. She held out a piece of construction paper. "A bad man came," Elara whispered. "He hurt Maria. I hid, but I saw him."

Maya took the drawing. It was a child's scribble, but the details were chillingly specific. A man in a suit, holding a bright yellow stick.

Maya’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at Roman, her hands shaking. "It's a gold cane. Mr. Vance, the floor manager... he walks with a gold cane."