Chapter 3 – THE TRAIN STATION LOCKER

The front window exploded.

Glass rained down like diamonds across the marble floor.

Nicholas moved on instinct.

He lunged forward, tackling Maria and Lucy to the floor, shielding their bodies with his own.

Gunfire tore through the foyer, chewing into the walls.

“Arthur! Get them to the safe room!” Nicholas roared, drawing the weapon he always carried at his spine.

The elderly butler grabbed Maria’s arm, hauling her and a screaming Lucy toward the hidden panel behind the staircase.

Nicholas returned fire, pushing back the shadows moving outside his ruined window.

Within seconds, his perimeter guards swarmed the lawn, and the attackers fled.

Nicholas stood up, his chest heaving.

He looked at the shattered glass.

This wasn’t a random hit.

Someone knew Maria had the watch.

He walked to the safe room.

Maria was holding a crying Lucy, her face buried in her mother’s neck.

“Are you hurt?” Nicholas asked softly.

“No,” Maria choked out. “Who were they?”

“The men who killed my brother,” Nicholas said. “And your husband.”

He looked down at the faded baggage ticket in his hand.

Locker 402. Grand Central.

“Arthur,” Nicholas commanded. “Double the guard. Nobody leaves. I’m going to the station.”

“I’m coming with you,” Maria said suddenly.

Nicholas frowned. “It’s too dangerous.”

“My husband died for whatever is in that locker,” she said, her voice shaking but fiercely determined. “I deserve to know why.”

An hour later, they stood in front of a rusted locker in the bowels of Grand Central Station.

Nicholas inserted the claim ticket.

The metal door clicked open.

Inside sat a small, battered leather journal.

Nicholas opened it.

It was written in Domenic’s handwriting.

Pages and pages of names, dates, and bank account numbers.

It was a ledger of every corrupt official the Caruso family had been paying off.

But as Nicholas flipped to the last page, his blood ran cold.

There was a photograph taped to the cover.

It showed a younger Vivienne Hart handing a briefcase to a man in a police uniform.

“She set him up,” Nicholas whispered.

Maria gasped. “Vivienne?”

Nicholas stared at the photo.

“She arranged the hit on my brother.”

Suddenly, a cold metal barrel pressed against the back of Nicholas’s head.

“How perceptive of you, darling,” Vivienne’s voice purred behind him.

TITLE: THE GUN TO HIS HEAD

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