“TAKE THAT OLD MAN’S PLATE AWAY! HE’S HAD ENOUGH!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE HUMILIATED HIS 27-YEAR-OLD MAID FOR SERVING HIS FATHER DINNER IN FRONT OF THIRTY-SIX GUESTS—BUT WHEN THE OLD MAN BEGGED HER NOT TO LEAVE HIM ALONE, THE MAFIA BOSS PUT DOWN HIS FORK AND ASKED ONE QUESTION THAT MADE HIS FIANCÉE GO PALE -

Chapter 5 – THE TICKET TO NOWHERE

“Michael! Stop her!” Dominic roared, abandoning his standoff with Vincent and sprinting toward the hallway.

But Vincent saw his opening. He lunged in the opposite direction, sprinting toward the French doors that led to the patio. He shattered the glass with the butt of his gun and disappeared into the rainy night.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my ears. Anthony was breathing heavily, clutching his chest.

“Emily,” Anthony gasped, sinking back into his chair. “The Morettis… if Catherine sold us out to the Morettis…”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I ran to the hallway. Dominic was standing near the grand staircase, restraining Catherine. She was thrashing wildly, her elegant gown tearing at the seam.

“Let me go!” she shrieked. “You don’t understand!”

“How long?” Dominic demanded, pinning her against the wall. “How long have you been working with the Morettis?”

Catherine stopped struggling, panting heavily. She looked up at him, a bitter, twisted smile forming on her lips. “Long enough to know that your empire is crumbling, Dominic. Enzo offered me a way out.”

“By giving them my son?” Dominic’s voice shook with a rage so profound it made the air heavy.

“I found Anthony’s documents months ago,” Catherine sneered. “I knew about the boy before Vincent even pushed the old man. I went to see the kid. I wore your stupid family pin so he’d trust me.”

I felt physically sick. The nice man Toby drew wasn’t a man at all. It was a woman in a tailored suit.

“Where is he?” I demanded, stepping forward. “What did you do to Toby?”

Catherine laughed, a cold, empty sound. “He’s not at St. Jude’s anymore, sweetheart. Enzo’s men picked him up three hours ago. By midnight, he’ll be on a cargo ship heading overseas. He’ll just be another missing orphan.”

Dominic pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and pressed it under Catherine’s chin.

“Where is the ship, Catherine?”

She stared back at him, unafraid. “If you kill me, you’ll never find him.”

Suddenly, Michael ran into the hallway, holding the black satellite phone from the dining room. “Boss. I hacked the GPS logs on this phone. She hasn’t been calling Moretti’s headquarters. She’s been pinging a location at Pier 44 in Brooklyn.”

Dominic dropped Catherine, letting her slide to the floor. “Lock her in the cellar. Do not let her out.”

He turned to me, his dark eyes entirely focused. “Emily. You know the boy. You know what he looks like. I need you with me.”

“I’m coming,” I said without hesitation.

“Dominic!” a fragile voice called out.

Anthony was standing at the entrance of the dining room. He was leaning heavily on a cane, but he was standing on his own.

“Dad, you can’t come,” Dominic said. “It’s too dangerous.”

Anthony reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, iron key.

“Pier 44 belongs to the Morettis,” Anthony said, his voice steel. “But the underground tunnels beneath it belong to me. I built them forty years ago. You won’t get past their guards without this.”

Dominic stared at his father, seeing the mafia boss he used to be, not the broken man Catherine had tried to create.

Dominic took the key. “Let’s go get my son.”

We piled into a black SUV, the tires screeching on the wet gravel as we tore out of the estate. The rain was coming down in sheets, blurring the streetlights into streaks of gold.

I sat in the back, clutching the child’s drawing in my lap.

We reached Brooklyn in forty minutes. The docks were entirely dark, save for a single warehouse at the end of Pier 44. A massive cargo ship was moored beside it.

Dominic parked two blocks away. He, Michael, and four other heavily armed men silently made their way to a rusted grate in the alleyway. Dominic used Anthony’s iron key. The grate shrieked open.

We descended into the pitch-black tunnels. The smell of salt and decay was overwhelming. After ten minutes of creeping through the dark, Dominic stopped beneath a metal hatch.

He pushed it open. We climbed up into a dusty office overlooking the warehouse floor.

Below us, a dozen armed men were patrolling the space. And in the center, tied to a wooden chair, was a small boy with messy brown hair.

Toby.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop a sob.

But as I looked closer, my relief turned to pure horror. I grabbed Dominic’s arm and pointed down at the boy.

“Dominic,” I whispered, panic squeezing my throat. “That’s not Toby.”