THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME SLAM THE DINING-ROOM DOORS IN HIS FIANCÉE’S WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER’S FACE—THEN SHE SAID, “SHE FELL AT THE SERVICE ENTRANCE,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY MY WRIST WAS BRUISED.

"Get down!" Luca roared, tackling me to the floor just as the front windows of the tailor shop exploded inward.

A hail of silenced gunfire chewed through the glass, the mannequins, and the plaster walls. The sound was a terrifying, suppressed thwip-thwip-thwip that sent shards of glass raining down over my hair.

I screamed, covering my head with my arms, pressing my face into the dusty floorboards.

Elias didn't hesitate. He grabbed Leo by the collar of his coat, dragging the terrified child behind the heavy iron safe. The old man raised his shotgun over the desk and fired twice. The deafening booms shook the foundations of the shop, shattering the remaining window panes and forcing the tactical team outside to scramble for cover.

"Daniel is leading them!" Luca shouted over the ringing in our ears, returning fire with his handgun. "My own captain!"

"I told you the inner circle was rotten!" Elias yelled back, rapidly reloading his shotgun. "The Bellinis bought him! We need to move, now! They have us boxed in!"

Luca grabbed my arm, his grip bruising but desperate. "Are you hit?"

"No," I gasped, my chest heaving. "I'm okay."

"Elias, the back door!" Luca commanded.

"It opens into a blind alley. It's a dead end!" Elias shouted.

Panic flared in Luca’s eyes. He was a tactician, a boss who always had an exit strategy, but tonight he had walked blindly into a trap, betrayed by the man he trusted to watch his back.

My mind raced. The adrenaline burned away my fear, leaving a stark, desperate clarity. I looked at the crumbling brick walls. I recognized the shape of this building. I grew up four blocks from here, in the subsidized housing projects. As a teenager, I had explored every rusted fire escape and abandoned lot in the West Loop.

"Not a dead end," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "There’s an old coal chute in the cellar. It connects to the abandoned subway maintenance tunnels. We used to sneak into them when I was a kid."

Luca stared at me, astonishment flashing across his face. He didn't question it.

"Show me," he ordered.

"Cover us!" Luca yelled to Elias.

Elias fired another deafening blast, buying us exactly three seconds. Luca grabbed my hand, yanking me to my feet, and we sprinted toward the back office. Elias grabbed the heavy ledgers, scooped Leo into his arms, and followed right on our heels.

I found the heavy wooden door to the cellar. It was swollen with dampness, but Luca kicked it open with one brutal thrust of his boot.

We rushed down the rotting wooden stairs into absolute darkness. The sounds of men kicking down the front door of the shop echoed above us. Heavy boots stomped across the floorboards.

"Find them!" Daniel’s muffled voice commanded from above. "Do not let the boy out of this building!"

I fumbled along the damp brick wall of the cellar until my fingers brushed the cold, rusted iron of the coal chute.

"Here!" I whispered.

I gripped the heavy iron latch. My injured wrist screamed in agony, a sharp, stabbing pain radiating up my forearm, but I gritted my teeth and pulled. The heavy door groaned open, revealing a narrow, pitch-black tunnel sloping downward.

"Go, go, go," Luca urged, pushing Elias and Leo forward.

Elias slid down the chute first, catching Leo as Luca handed the boy down. I went next, the rough brick scraping against my uniform. Luca followed last, pulling the heavy iron door shut just as the cellar stairs above us illuminated with the beams of tactical flashlights.

We hit the muddy floor of the maintenance tunnel. It smelled of ozone, stagnant water, and decay.

"Which way, Hannah?" Luca asked, clicking his flashlight on, keeping the beam pointed at the ground to avoid detection.

"Left," I said, catching my breath. "It leads to the old railyard by the river. It's about a mile in the dark."

We began to move. The tunnel was agonizingly silent, save for the splashing of our footsteps in the shallow puddles. Leo was clinging to Elias’s neck, completely silent, his small face buried in the old man's shoulder.

Luca walked backward, his gun raised, watching our rear.

As we navigated a sharp turn in the tunnel, my hand brushed against my apron pocket. I felt a sharp spike of panic. I stopped, frantically patting down my uniform.

"What is it?" Luca whispered, instantly alert.

"My... my medication list," I stammered, my heart sinking. "For my father. I keep his daily schedule folded in my apron. I must have dropped it when we hit the floor upstairs."

Luca’s jaw tightened. "Does it have your name on it?"

"It has his name. And his address."

The reality crashed down on me. Daniel knew who I was. Vanessa knew who I was. And now, they had a map leading directly to my disabled father’s apartment.

Tears finally breached my eyes, hot and terrifying. "They're going to kill him. Because I held a door shut tonight, they are going to kill my father."

Luca holstered his weapon. He stepped closer, gripping both of my shoulders. In the dim light of the tunnel, his eyes were incredibly intense, completely stripping away the facade of the untouchable mafia boss.

"Nobody is touching your father," Luca said, his voice a vow of absolute certainty. "I am going to get him. You have my word."

We walked for another thirty minutes until the tunnel opened up into the rusted, overgrown expanse of the abandoned railyard. The freezing rain was still coming down in sheets.

Luca led us toward a massive, corrugated metal warehouse sitting isolated by the river's edge. He bypassed the rusted padlock with a heavy kick, revealing a surprisingly clean, dry interior. It was one of his secret safe houses, stocked with supplies, vehicles, and a heavy armory bunker.

"We're safe here for now," Luca said, locking the heavy steel door behind us.

He immediately walked toward a row of wooden shipping crates in the corner. He pulled a crowbar from a workbench and popped the lid of the largest crate. It was filled with heavy weaponry—rifles, body armor, and ammunition.

Luca began pulling out tactical vests, preparing for the war that had just begun.

But as he lifted a heavy Kevlar vest, a manila envelope slid out from beneath it and fell to the floor. The clasp broke open, scattering a dozen glossy photographs across the concrete.

I stepped forward to help him pick them up.

But as my eyes fell on the top photograph, the breath was completely knocked out of my lungs.

It was a surveillance photo, dated eleven years ago.

It showed Carlo Bellini, Vanessa’s father, standing on a rainy dock. And standing next to him, holding a massive black duffel bag overflowing with cash, was a man I would recognize anywhere.