I TEXTED, “YOUR DAD IS WAY TOO HANDSOME.” THEN MY PHONE BUZZED: “ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ME?”

“Stop walking, Evelyn!” Connor shouted, his voice cracking violently. He raised the silver handgun with both hands, pointing it directly at my chest. His knuckles were bone-white, his breathing shallow and rapid. “I swear to God, I’ll pull the trigger!”

I stopped. We were ten feet apart in the vast, ruined living room of the penthouse. The glittering Chicago skyline mocked us through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Julian is going to kill him, Connor,” I said, keeping my voice low, steady, channeling the quiet authority I had seen Adrian use an hour ago. “Once Adrian opens that vault, Julian doesn't need him. And he doesn't need you. Do you honestly think a man who faked his own death and framed his brother is going to let a loose end like you walk away with his cartel debts paid?”

Connor swallowed hard. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “He promised. He said if I got him inside the penthouse to leverage Madison, my debts would be erased.”

“He’s using you!” I stepped closer, closing the distance to eight feet. “Just like he used Elena. Where is Madison?”

“In the bedroom,” Connor stammered, his eyes darting toward the hallway. “She’s fine. I just gave her a mild sedative in her tea when she got home. She didn't suffer.”

The sheer betrayal in his words ignited a fury inside me that burned away the last remnants of my fear. This was the man who had slept beside my best friend for two years, the man who had promised to protect her, admitting he had drugged her for money.

“You’re pathetic,” I hissed.

I took another step. Six feet.

“Get back!” Connor yelled, stepping backward.

But as he stepped back, his expensive Italian leather shoe caught the edge of the shattered glass coffee table scattered across the rug. He stumbled, his arms flailing to keep his balance. The gun dipped toward the floor.

I didn't hesitate. I didn't think. I lunged.

I closed the distance in a second, slamming my body weight into him. Connor shouted in surprise as we crashed onto the white marble floor. I grabbed his wrist, driving my knee hard into his ribs. He cried out in pain, his grip loosening just enough.

I wrenched the silver handgun from his fingers and scrambled backward, breathing heavily.

I pointed the barrel directly at his face. My hands were shaking, but my finger was firm on the trigger.

“Don't move,” I commanded, my voice trembling but vicious.

Connor lay on the floor, holding his ribs, looking up at me in sheer terror. “Evelyn, please. Don't shoot.”

I didn't waste time on him. I kept the gun aimed at his chest as I backed toward the hallway. I found the master bedroom door and kicked it open.

The room was dark, save for the city lights filtering through the blinds. Madison was lying on the massive canopy bed, fully dressed in her gala gown, her breathing slow and unnaturally deep.

“Maddie,” I rushed to her side, keeping one eye on the doorway. I shook her shoulder. “Maddie, wake up.”

She groaned, her eyelids fluttering, but she didn't wake. The sedative was too strong.

I needed to act fast. It was 11:25 PM. Julian had promised to burn my sister’s apartment building down at midnight if Adrian didn't open the vault. I had thirty-five minutes to save Sarah and Adrian.

I ran back into the living room. Connor was slowly pushing himself up to his knees.

“Stay down!” I yelled, aiming the gun again.

I grabbed Connor’s phone from the floor where it had fallen during the struggle. I unlocked it using his face ID while he cowered on the floor.

“Who is the contact for the men at my sister’s apartment?” I demanded.

“I don't know!” Connor pleaded. “Julian handles his own men. I swear, Evelyn!”

A reversal hit me hard. Julian hadn't left Connor here to guard Madison. He had left Connor here as a distraction. Julian never intended to call off the hit on my sister. He was going to burn her building down to punish Adrian, regardless of whether the vault was opened. Julian was a scorched-earth weapon.

I threw Connor’s phone at his chest. “If Madison wakes up before I get back, and she is harmed in any way, I will let Adrian deal with you myself.”

Connor flinched, curling into a ball.

I ran to the private elevator, hit the lobby button, and checked the magazine of the silver handgun as the doors closed. Fifteen rounds. I had never fired a gun in my life, but I was thirty minutes away from losing everything I cared about.

The elevator hit the lobby. I sprinted past the empty concierge desk and out into the freezing rain.

Adrian’s men were supposed to be securing the building, but the street was empty. Julian must have intercepted the order or used his cloned network to cancel it.

I flagged down a passing taxi, yanking the door open.

“The old Vale Estate on Lake Shore Drive,” I told the driver, tossing a hundred-dollar bill onto the front seat. “Drive like your life depends on it.”

The taxi tore through the rain-soaked streets. I sat in the backseat, clutching the gun in one hand and my sister’s gold locket in the other.

The old Vale Estate was a sprawling, gothic mansion built in the 1920s, heavily fortified and largely abandoned since Adrian moved the syndicate operations into the city. It was isolated, surrounded by dense woods and an iron gate.

The taxi skidded to a halt outside the wrought-iron gates. They were wide open.

“Wait here,” I told the driver, stepping out into the torrential rain.

I moved through the shadows of the massive oak trees lining the driveway, my soaking wet gala dress clinging to my legs. The mansion loomed ahead, dark and silent, except for a faint sliver of light coming from the cellar doors at the side of the house.

I crept toward the light. The heavy wooden cellar doors were thrown open, revealing a stone staircase leading deep underground.

I descended the stairs, the sound of my heels masked by the driving rain outside.

At the bottom of the stairs was a long, damp corridor lined with wine racks. At the far end, illuminated by harsh work lights Julian must have brought, was the vault. It was a massive, circular steel door built into the bedrock, looking like a bank vault from a century ago.

Julian stood in front of the vault, aiming a suppressed pistol at the back of Adrian’s head.

“It is 11:45, Adrian,” Julian sneered, checking his silver watch. “Speak the phrase. Open the door. Or your daughter’s friend watches her sister burn.”

Adrian stood rigid, his hands bound in front of him with heavy zip-ties. He looked utterly defeated.

“The phrase is a voice-print, Julian,” Adrian said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “It requires my father’s exact vocal cadence. I recorded it before he died.”

“Then play the recording,” Julian demanded, stepping closer.

Adrian slowly reached into his overcoat pocket. He didn't pull out a recorder. He pulled out a small, heavy object.

It was a vintage gold lighter.

“He didn't record it, Julian,” Adrian said softly, spinning the lighter in his bound hands. “He told me the phrase the night you poisoned him. His dying words. And I made sure they were the only words that could open this door.”

Adrian flicked the lighter. A flame illuminated his face.

“What is the phrase?” Julian demanded, his gun pressing hard into Adrian’s spine.

Adrian looked directly at the vault door. He didn't speak. He simply smiled a sad, broken smile.