BLOOD AND WHITE ROSES

The tires of the SUV shrieked as Dante slammed on the gas, tearing out of the alleyway.

Ivy couldn't breathe. The air in the car felt thick, suffocating. Lily. Sweet, innocent Lily, with her missing front tooth and her obsession with drawing animals. Ivy had promised her sister on her deathbed that she would protect the little girl. Now, monsters had her.

"Where is she usually at this hour?" Dante demanded, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror, checking for tails.

"With Mrs. Higgins, my neighbor," Ivy choked out, frantically redialing her neighbor's number. It went straight to voicemail. "She’s not answering. Oh God, they have her. They have my little girl."

Dante’s jaw tightened. "Enzo wouldn't take a civilian child just to punish a florist. He didn't even know you were under that altar. You’re collateral damage. Someone pointed him to you after the cathedral."

"I don't understand!" Ivy cried, slamming her hands against her knees. "I'm nobody! I just sell flowers!"

"In my world, nobody is a nobody," Dante said coldly. He whipped the car into a subterranean parking garage beneath an abandoned textile warehouse. One of his off-the-books safe houses.

He killed the engine and turned to face her. In the dim yellow light of the garage, Dante Russo looked like a fallen angel. Bruised, bloodied, and utterly lethal.

"What was your mother’s name?" he asked abruptly.

"What? What does my mother have to do with this?"

"Answer the question, Ivy."

"Rose. Rose Miller."

Dante froze. He reached into his blood-stained tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small, tattered leather notebook. He flipped to the back page and showed it to her.

Written in faded ink, in his late father’s handwriting, was a single line: Rose Miller. The Keeper.

"My father ran this syndicate for forty years," Dante said softly. "Before he was murdered, he told me he hid his master ledger—the book containing the location of two hundred million dollars in untraceable offshore accounts. He said 'The Keeper' had it. I’ve spent five years looking for a mob boss named Rose. I never thought to look for a florist."

Ivy stared at the notebook, her mind spinning wildly. Her mother? A mob associate? "No. No, my mother baked pies. She grew hydrangeas. She died of leukemia three years ago. You’re lying."

"I don't lie," Dante said, stepping out of the car. "And Enzo just found out who you are. He took your niece for leverage. He wants the ledger."

He led her into the freight elevator, hitting the button for the top floor.

"I don't have it," Ivy said, her voice shaking. "I swear to God, I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Think, Ivy," Dante pushed, his tone intense but surprisingly steadying. "Did she leave you anything? A key? A safe deposit box? An inheritance?"

"She left me debt!" Ivy yelled, the stress finally breaking her. "She left me a failing flower shop and a mountain of hospital bills!"

The elevator doors opened into a sprawling, minimalist penthouse. Dante walked to the kitchen island, pulling a medical kit from a drawer to treat the graze on his shoulder.

"Nothing at all?" he pressed, wincing slightly as he poured antiseptic over his skin.

Ivy watched the blood run down his muscular arm, her mind racing. "Only... her jewelry box. But it was just costume jewelry. And her locket."

"Where is the locket?"

"Lily wears it," Ivy whispered, her stomach dropping. "She never takes it off."

Dante closed his eyes, exhaling a harsh breath. "Then Enzo already has the key."

Before Ivy could process the horror of that statement, a heavy, wet thud echoed from the front door of the penthouse.

Dante instantly raised his Glock, motioning for Ivy to get behind the kitchen island. He moved silently to the door, checking the security monitor.

His face went pale.

Dante yanked the door open. Collapsing into the foyer was Marco, Dante’s youngest captain. His white shirt was soaked in blood from a gut wound.

"Boss," Marco gasped, coughing up crimson. "It’s Carlo... Carlo set us up..."

Dante dropped to his knees, pressing his hands against Marco’s wound. "Hold on, kid. I’ve got you."

Marco weakly reached up, his bloody fingers unclenching. Resting in his palm was a cheap, gold-plated locket.

Ivy gasped, stepping out from behind the counter. "That’s Lily’s!"

"I tried... to get the kid," Marco wheezed, his eyes losing focus. "Carlo... he’s taking her to the docks. Pier 40." Marco looked at Dante, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't trust the police, boss. They're on Carlo's payroll."

Marco’s head rolled to the side. His breathing stopped.

Dante stared at the young man who had just died to bring them a clue. Slowly, he took the locket from Marco’s hand and stood up. The cold, calculated mob boss was gone. In his eyes burned an inferno of pure, unfiltered vengeance.

He tossed the locket to Ivy.

"Open it," Dante ordered.