Chapter 2 - THE ICE AND THE ASH

The smoke in the ruined kitchen burned Sophie’s lungs, but it was nothing compared to the fiery panic exploding in her chest.

Proceed with the package.

"She’s with my babysitter," Sophie gasped, frantically patting her flour-covered apron for her phone. Her hands shook so violently she dropped it twice before Alessio caught it, pressing it firmly into her palm. "Her name is Clara. She’s at my apartment."

"Call her," Alessio commanded, his voice a low, steady anchor in the chaos. He pulled a 9mm pistol from an ankle holster, his eyes sweeping the dark, waterlogged shadows of the kitchen.

Sophie dialed. It went straight to voicemail.

"She’s not answering," Sophie cried, her voice cracking. "David has supervised visitation on weekends! He’s not supposed to have her tonight!"

Alessio grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the shattered window. The estate’s alarms were blaring now, the distant wail of sirens echoing up the coastal highway. "We can't stay here. The police will lock down the estate. If your ex-husband hired syndicate muscle, he owns the cops, too. We do this my way."

He hoisted her through the broken window frame, lifting her effortlessly despite the heavy, wet wool of his coat weighing her down. They hit the wet grass of the cliffside lawn and ran toward a detached, ivy-covered carriage house.

Inside was a sleek, matte-black armored SUV. Alessio threw her into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, firing up the engine with a push of a button.

"My ex-husband is an investment banker!" Sophie yelled over the roar of the engine as they tore down the private driveway, headlights off. "How could he hire an assassin? How does he have a burner phone connection?"

Alessio’s jaw clenched. "Because David isn't just a banker, Sophie. For the past three years, he’s been laundering money for the Marchesi syndicate."

Sophie felt the blood drain from her face. Reversal. The man she had slept next to, the man who had tormented her with perfectly legal, calculated cruelties, was working for the mafia.

"I didn't know," Sophie whispered, horror washing over her. "I swear to God, I had no idea."

"I believe you," Alessio said, whipping the heavy SUV onto the coastal highway, the tires screaming against the asphalt. "David handles the offshore accounts for my stepmother, Beatrice. She’s been trying to push me out of the family business to sell it to a Russian cartel. David is her pet accountant."

The pieces violently snapped together. Answer: David was laundering money for Beatrice. Open: But why kill Sophie? Why take Mia?

"If he works for your family, why kill me?" Sophie begged, gripping the dashboard. "I don't know anything about offshore accounts! I bake wedding cakes!"

"Because Beatrice knows I’ve been auditing the books," Alessio explained, his eyes fixed on the road, his driving terrifyingly precise. "I found a twenty-million-dollar discrepancy yesterday. I was going to execute David tomorrow morning. Beatrice must have tipped him off."

Sophie’s breath hitched. "So he kills me... to get sole custody of Mia before he runs?"

"No," Alessio said softly, a rare flicker of empathy crossing his hardened features. "If David is running from me, he can't take a five-year-old on the run. A child is a liability. He’s not taking her to run. He’s using her as leverage."

Sophie’s phone suddenly buzzed in her lap.

She stared at the screen. It was a text from an unknown number. Her hand trembled as she opened it.

It was a photograph.

Mia, her beautiful, sweet five-year-old girl, was sitting in the back of a luxury town car, fast asleep, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit. But draped over Mia’s small shoulders wasn't a blanket.

It was a heavy, silver rosary.

Sophie gasped, showing the phone to Alessio.

Alessio hit the brakes so hard the SUV swerved, stopping dead on the shoulder of the highway. He stared at the screen, the color entirely vanishing from his flawless face.

"Do you know that rosary?" Sophie asked, terror clawing at her throat.

"Yes," Alessio whispered, his voice laced with a venom so pure it made the hair on Sophie’s arms stand up. "It belongs to Beatrice."

Underneath the photo, a second text chimed in.