THE EMPTY SEAT AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE

Total darkness consumed the dining room.

Instantly, chaos erupted. Chairs crashed backward, glass shattered, and the heavy thud of men hitting the floor echoed through the blackness. The capos were shouting orders, their voices overlapping in a panicked cacophony.

“Protect the boss!” Vinnie roared from somewhere near the door.

I didn’t move. I dropped to my knees right where I stood, my hands sliding blindly over the thick carpet. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“Lily!” Mr. Price’s voice cried out in the dark, frantic and desperate. “Lily, where are you?”

“I’m here, Grandpa!” a small, terrified voice answered from my left.

I crawled toward the sound, my hands sweeping the floor until I felt the rough fabric of Mr. Price’s trousers. I grabbed his arm. “I’ve got her, Mr. Price,” I whispered fiercely. I pulled the little girl toward me, shielding her body with my own beneath the edge of the heavy wooden dining table.

“Leo!” Matteo shouted over the din. “Leo, stay down!”

There was a sudden, violent scuffle near the sideboard. The sound of a heavy body being thrown into the wall, followed by a sickening crunch and a groan of pain.

“Someone grab Harlan!” Vinnie yelled.

“He’s gone!” another voice shouted. “The window’s open!”

A cold draft swept through the room, bringing with it the smell of rain and damp earth. Harlan had escaped.

Suddenly, a bright beam of light sliced through the darkness. One of the capos had pulled a heavy tactical flashlight from his coat. The beam swept across the room, illuminating the chaos.

The dining table was overturned. The floral arrangements were smashed. Celia was cowering in a corner, sobbing hysterically.

But Harlan was gone. The heavy velvet curtains near the side of the room were billowing wildly in front of an open, shattered window.

Matteo stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving. His gun was drawn, his eyes scanning the shadows. He looked at the floor near his feet.

Leo was still there, curled into a tight ball, his hands over his ears.

Matteo let out a long breath and knelt, putting a protective hand on the boy’s back. “You’re okay, son. You’re safe.”

“Boss,” Vinnie said, sweeping his flashlight toward the broken window. “Harlan’s men must have cut the main power line. He’s making a run for it.”

“He’s not running,” Matteo said, his voice dropping to a lethal calm. “He’s going to the north side. He’s going to finish this.”

I realized in a sickening rush what Mr. Price had been trying to point out before the lights went out. Harlan hadn’t just wanted the birth certificate as proof. He needed it to claim the boy’s inheritance if something happened to Matteo. And if Elena was still alive, she was the only witness left who could expose his years of treason and abuse.

Harlan was going to silence her.

“We have to get to that safe house,” Matteo ordered, grabbing his phone. He dialed a number, but cursed and threw the phone onto the ruined table. “Signal jammers. They’ve blocked the network.”

“The cars are in the front driveway,” Vinnie said. “We can be there in ten minutes.”

“No,” I said, standing up. My voice was surprisingly steady.

The flashlight beam swung toward me. I squinted against the glare, still holding Lily tightly against my side. Mr. Price stood beside me, leaning on his cane.

“What do you mean, no?” Matteo asked, stepping toward me.

“Celia handles all the event planning, including the security routes for tonight,” I explained quickly. “She blocked the front driveway with the catering trucks to control the flow of guests. The only way out of the estate without moving those trucks is the service road behind the kitchen.”

Matteo looked at Celia, who was weeping into her hands. He didn’t even bother asking her if it was true. He knew I was right.

“Show us,” Matteo commanded.

I grabbed a candle off a side table—one of the few that hadn’t been smashed—and borrowed a lighter from Vinnie. The small, flickering flame cast long, dancing shadows against the walls.

“Stay close,” I told Mr. Price. He nodded, gripping Lily’s hand.

I led them out of the dining room, down the long, dark hallway toward the service quarters. The estate was eerily quiet, the normal hum of the refrigerators and air conditioning completely dead.

As we pushed through the heavy swinging doors into the massive industrial kitchen, the beam of Vinnie’s flashlight caught something glinting on the stainless steel prep counter.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

It was a silver bracelet.

It wasn't Lily's locket, and it wasn't the boy's puzzle necklace. It was a heavy, masculine silver bracelet, thick and tarnished.

Matteo stepped past me and picked it up. He stared at it, his face hardening into a mask of pure fury.

“That’s Harlan’s,” Matteo said quietly. “He didn’t go out the window. He went this way.”

A cold chill washed over me. If Harlan had come through the kitchen, he was heading for the service road. He was taking the one clear path out of the estate.

“Boss!” Vinnie shouted, aiming his flashlight toward the back exit.

The heavy steel security door leading to the service road was propped open.

And standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the rainy night, was Owen Harlan.

But he wasn’t running. He was waiting.

And he was holding a gasoline can.

“You’re not going anywhere, Matteo,” Harlan yelled over the sound of the rain. He tipped the can, pouring a heavy stream of gasoline across the threshold of the kitchen door. The sharp, toxic smell of fuel instantly filled the enclosed space.

“Owen, stop!” Matteo shouted, raising his weapon.

But he couldn’t fire. The kitchen was full of gas stoves and pilot lights. One spark in the fume-filled air, and the entire room would explode.

Harlan knew it. He smiled, a desperate, feral look on his face.

He pulled a flare gun from his coat pocket.

“I told you,” Harlan spat. “I’m not going down for this. The boy is mine. The money is mine.”

He aimed the flare gun directly at the puddle of gasoline spreading across the floor.