Four months after I spent one unforgettable night with a stranger, my best friend stood beside Chicago's most feared mafia boss and announced she was carrying his baby. I was holding a mop when she ordered security to throw me out, unaware that **the baby growing inside me was actually his.**

The storm had turned into an icy gale by the time Dante’s armored Maybach pulled up to the rusted gates of Pier 42.

The abandoned industrial dock jutted out into the churning, black water of Lake Michigan. Decrepit shipping containers towered like iron monoliths against the smog-choked sky. Rain lashed against the reinforced glass of the sedan, blurring the halogen glow of two idling vehicles parked inside Warehouse 3.

"Stay in the car with the doors locked," Dante commanded, his voice cold and steady. "The windows are ballistic-grade. Nothing gets through them."

"Dante, wait," I said, catching the sleeve of his heavy wool coat.

He looked down at my hand.

"Sutton isn't working alone," I warned, my chest tight. "He told me Delia promised him control of the South Side logistics. Delia wouldn't have that kind of authority unless she was working with someone higher up in your organization."

A grim, humorless smile touched Dante’s lips. "I know. Delia is ambitious, but she’s not intelligent enough to forge syndicate transfer authorizations by herself. Tonight, we cut the entire rot out at the root."

He reached over, his leather-gloved fingers cupping the nape of my neck. He pulled me forward gently, pressing a firm, warm kiss against my forehead.

"Your sister is safe, Marin," he whispered against my skin. "Marco checked her into Northwestern ten minutes ago. Her bypass drip is running. The best pediatric team in the Midwest is standing by her bedside."

Tears sprang to my eyes, this time born of pure relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Dante said, his eyes turning to flint. "I have a debt to settle."

He stepped out into the freezing deluge, slamming the heavy door behind him. Four black SUVs materialized from the darkness around the pier, their headlights cutting through the rain. A dozen men in tactical gear stepped out silently, carbines drawn, fanning out in a lethal perimeter around the warehouse.

Dante didn't draw his weapon. He walked through the open corrugated iron doors of Warehouse 3 with the calm, terrifying arrogance of a king entering his throne room.

Inside the car, I gripped the leather seats, watching the shadows dance through the warehouse windows.

Suddenly, the passenger side window rattled.

I gasped, recoiling into the center console.

A woman was standing outside the glass, her designer trench coat soaked through, her blonde hair plastered to her skull like wet straw.

It was Delia.

Her face was twisted into a grotesque mask of fury. She had a heavy iron wrench in her gloved hands, smashing it repeatedly against the passenger window. The ballistic glass spider-webbed slightly, holding firm against the impact.

"Open the damn door, Marin!" Delia screamed, her muffled voice barely penetrating the thick pane. "Open it, you miserable little gutter rat!"

I scrambled for the phone Dante had left on the console, but before I could dial, the rear door of the Maybach clicked.

My blood ran cold.

*Dante had locked the car—but Delia had the master syndicate bypass fob.*

The back door swung open, and Sutton Vane dragged himself into the rear seat, his face bruised, his clothes torn, and a snub-nosed revolver gripped tightly in his trembling hand.

"Don't make a sound, sweetheart," Sutton rasped, jamming the cold steel barrel directly against the back of my neck. "Or I blow your spine across the dashboard."

Delia yanked open the front passenger door, sliding into the leather seat beside me, panting heavily. Her expensive makeup was smeared with rain and mascara, giving her the appearance of a drowning ghoul.

"Did you really think Dante cared about you?" Delia hissed, her fingernails digging violently into my arm. "He thinks you're an assassin! He’s inside right now executing the decoy crew Sutton planted! By the time he realizes you're gone, we’ll be on a private jet to Zurich with twenty million from the Outfit's escrow accounts!"

"You're insane, Delia," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the gun pressed to my neck. "Dante knows. He knows you faked the pregnancy. He knows about Nell."

Delia’s eyes widened with manic terror, then snapped into a chilling, venomous sneer.

"Then it's a good thing you're not going to survive the night," Delia whispered, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out a pre-filled plastic syringe. "A lethal potassium bolus. When Dante finds your body in the lake, he’ll think you panicked, jumped, and drowned. And Sutton and I will already be across international airspace."

She uncapped the needle with her teeth.

"Twenty years, Delia," I whispered, tears of profound betrayal burning behind my eyelids. "We grew up together. My mother fed you when your father beat you. How could you do this to Nell?"

"Because your mother gave you everything, and mine gave me bruises!" Delia spat, her face inches from mine. "You were always the pure one, the sweet one, the one everyone loved! But I’m the one who deserves the throne! Hold her down, Sutton!"

Sutton locked his arm around my throat, cutting off my air as Delia raised the needle, aiming straight for my jugular.

I had only one second.

I didn't try to pull away from Sutton. Instead, I drove my elbow back with every ounce of strength I had left, smashing it into his broken nose.

Sutton howled in agony, his grip loosening as the revolver discharged with an ear-shattering crack.

The bullet shattered the roof lining of the car.

Delia lunged with the needle, but I caught her wrist, twisting it violently toward the center console. We wrestled in the confined space, the deadly plastic syringe hovering inches between our faces.

"Shoot her, Sutton! Shoot her!" Delia shrieked.

Sutton raised the gun again, his blood dripping onto the leather upholstery, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Suddenly, the driver’s side door was ripped off its hinges with a sickening metallic screech.

A massive hand reached into the vehicle, grabbed Sutton by the throat, and yanked him clean through the opening like a rag doll.