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I press myself behind the file cabinet with my heart hammering against my ribs. It’s not like I’m forbidden from being in here, but suddenly, I’m panicking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The shuffle of movement stops, a pause stretching long enough to make my skin prickle. Then… click. The door shuts again.

I exhale slowly, forcing my pulse to steady. False alarm.

Turning back to the files, I move quicker now, but every crinkle of paper feels too loud, every breath toosharp. My fingers sift through folders, my mind racing with possibilities. There has to be something here. A name. A clue. Anything.

I slide one file back and reach for another, then my fingertips graze across something that makes my stomach drop.

Commission Operations.

When I pull the file from the shelf, flipping it open, a lump forms in my throat. Names. Dates. Transactions. And then—her.

My mother’s name.

Tears threaten to fall as my eyes lock onto the page. Then I turn it, and there’s a picture of her.

She’s smiling, her expression is warm, and she’s wearing the pearl necklace I gave her at our last Christmas together. The memory feels like yesterday, knocking the breath from my lungs. Why is she in here? What the hell was she involved in?

Before my brain spirals, I hear footsteps and low voices whispering outside the door.

Panic grips me, snapping me back to the moment. I shove the file back into place, closing the cabinet as softly as possible. I force myself to breathe and listen. When the sounds fade, I slip out of the records room, keeping my head down as I move down the hallway.

The office is nearly empty now, just a few late workers hunched over their computers. I’ll come back tomorrow or maybe Saturday. I can’t risk being caught. It’ll ruin everything.

I make my way to my desk to grab my bag, forcing myself to act normal and pretend to be just another late worker, heading home for the night.

Outside these walls, my tiny apartment waits for me. It’s a rundown place in the worst neighborhood Chicago has to offer, far from ideal. But it’s close to Cindy’s. That matters more.

The poor woman still thinks she has the flu. She doesn’t. She has me. The puzzle pieces are slowly coming together, but there’s still so much I don’t know.

At least now, I can rule out the Morelli’s. That’s something.

The moment my desk comes into view, my heart stops. Don Antonio and Don Sebastiano sit in the chairs to the left, the ones meant for visitors waiting to see the Morellis. But it’s not them that makes my stomach drop.

It’s him.

Alessandro Gualtiero.

Sitting in my chair, looking like he owns the damn place. His crystal-blue eyes lock onto mine, and a slow, sinister grin stretches across his lips.

Shit.

I’m busted. Completely and utterly fucked.

Gualtiero stands, and Jesus Christ, the man has to be at least 6’5”. Not that I’m about to stand here and measure.

My body moves before my brain fully catches up. I spin on my heel and bolt toward the emergency exit, my pulse slamming against my ribs.

No way in hell am I waiting around to find out what he has planned for me. I bolt, sprinting straight into the freight elevator and jamming the ‘close’ button over and over like the harder I press it, the faster it’ll move. Panic claws up my throat as I catch sight of a wall of pissed-off, overgrown men charging straight at the door.

It closes just in time, barely a second before they reach it.

I’m watching the floor numbers tick by when the elevator suddenly jerks to a stop on the fifth. My heart’s beating like it’s trying to break out of my chest. I hold my breath, bracing myself for whoever’s on the other side. But screw it, I’m not about to get cornered.

The second the doors slide open, I take off at full speed. I damn near slam straight through some poor guy trying to step inside, but I don’t stop to ask if he’s ok. I dash toward the stairwell, slamming the door open sohard it nearly bounces off the wall, and start flying down the steps, two at a time.

The stairwell fills with the sounds of my footsteps, and behind me sounds like a damn herd of elephants.

I glance back only to see more gargantuans charging after me, hot on my heels. My lungs are on fire, and my legs are screaming at me, but I can’t stop now. I need to get the fuck out of here.