SIX MAFIA MEN FROZE WHEN THE WAITRESS SPOKE ITALIAN

Grant looked almost exactly as I remembered him.

That was the worst part.

Same sandy hair.

Same expensive wool coat.

Same gray eyes that had once convinced me I was safe.

For two years, I had known every expression on his face.

Now I wondered how many of them had been rehearsed.

We stood thirty feet apart in a small park near the Boston waterfront where we had first met at a charity event.

Snow clung to bare branches.

A few people walked dogs along the path.

Luca was somewhere beyond the trees.

I did not know where.

That was the agreement.

"You were hired to find me," I repeated.

Grant nodded.

"Before we met."

The words hurt more than I expected.

I had known our relationship was poisoned.

I had not known it began as poison.

"By Marco?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He knew Elena had a granddaughter in the United States. He thought she might have given you documents without telling you what they were."

"So you dated me."

He flinched.

"At first, yes."

I laughed once.

"At first. That's comforting."

"Dylan -"

"Don't use my name like you still own a piece of it."

His face tightened.

Good.

Let him hurt.

"What did Marco want?"

"A ledger. Recordings. Anything connected to Sofia Rossi or Nicholas Hart."

My father's name from Grant's mouth made my skin crawl.

"You knew who my father was?"

"Not at first. Later."

"And you never told me."

"I was not supposed to."

"You were supposed to lie to me, isolate me, destroy my career, read my messages, and make me think I was losing my mind?"

His jaw worked.

"I did things I am not proud of."

"That is a very clean sentence for very dirty behavior."

He looked away.

For years, I had imagined what I would say if I ever saw him again.

In those fantasies I screamed.

I slapped him.

I made him understand exactly how much he had taken from me.

But standing there, I felt something better than rage.

Distance.

Grant was not enormous anymore.

He was just a man who had needed to make me small because he could not control me otherwise.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Because Marco is going to kill me."

"He already told people you were dead."

Grant's eyes snapped to mine.

"Then he is closer than I thought."

"Closer to what?"

"Finishing this."

He reached slowly inside his coat.

I stepped back.

"Easy," he said. "It's a drive."

"Put it on the bench."

He did.

A small silver flash drive.

"Copies of every payment Marco made to my company," he said. "Emails. Voice messages. He used intermediaries most of the time, but not always."

"Why keep them?"

"Insurance."

"Against the man paying you?"

"Against everyone."

That sounded like Grant.

I did not pick up the drive.

"Why me? Why not the police?"

He laughed bitterly. "Because I do not know which police officer is on whose payroll. Because Marco has spent thirty years looking respectable. Because Luca Rossi would kill me before I got through the first sentence."

From somewhere behind the trees, I imagined Luca hearing that.

I hoped he was offended.

"Luca is not going to kill you."

Grant stared at me.

"You sound very sure."

I realized I was.

That surprised me.

"Tell me what Marco wants now."

Grant looked around.

"The original recording. Elena had something from the night Sofia died. A call. Alessandro Bellini's voice giving the route to someone. Marco believes the recording still exists. If it does, it ties his father to the attack and proves the whole Bellini firm was built on money that came after Sofia's death."

"That is history. Why risk everything now?"

"Because Rebecca Shaw found something else."

My heartbeat accelerated.

"What?"

"Marco never stopped."

A cold wind moved between us.

Grant continued.

"After Alessandro died, Marco inherited his clients and his hidden accounts. He did not just cover up the old betrayal. He rebuilt it. He has been siphoning money from Rossi companies for years and selling internal information to competitors. Rebecca found the pattern."

"And disappeared."

Grant looked down.

"Yes."

"Did Marco kill her?"

"I don't know."

I believed him.

Or maybe I simply believed that cowards rarely asked questions about what happened after they delivered someone into danger.

"Did you help him find her?"

Grant's silence was answer enough.

My stomach twisted.

"What did you do?"

"I tracked her phone. That's all."

"That's all?"

"I gave Marco an address. I did not know what he intended."

"You always say that, don't you?"

His face hardened.

"I came here to help you."

"No. You came because the person you helped is finally coming for you."

He stepped toward me.

"Dylan, take the drive."

"Back up."

He stopped.

For once, he listened.

"There is one more thing," he said.

"Of course there is."

"Marco knows Elena is dead because someone at the hospice told him."

I felt sick.

"Who?"

"I don't know. But he had confirmation before you did. He knew her instructions would activate after her death. That is why he sent someone to your apartment."

"Who broke in?"

"A contractor named Pierce. Marco used him before."

"Where is Pierce now?"

Grant gave me a grim look.

"Missing."

I looked at the silver drive on the bench.

"And the fake detective call?"

"Marco. Or someone working for him. He wanted you to believe I was dead so you would stop thinking about Boston."

A dark SUV turned onto the road beyond the park.

Grant saw it.

His face went white.

"No."

"What?"

"We have to go."

"Grant -"

He grabbed my arm.

Every memory in my body fired at once.

I ripped away.

"Do not touch me!"

"Dylan, listen to me -"

"She said don't touch her."

Luca's voice came from behind us.

Grant froze.

Luca walked out from between the trees, hands empty, expression terrifyingly calm.

"Rossi."

"Holloway."

Grant took a step back.

"I gave her evidence."

"That may be the only intelligent thing you have done in years."

The SUV accelerated.

Luca's attention snapped toward it.

"Down!"

He moved before I understood why.

He pulled me behind a stone planter as the SUV jumped the curb.

People screamed.

The vehicle slammed into a bench where Grant had been standing seconds earlier.

Grant threw himself sideways.

The silver flash drive disappeared beneath the snow.

The SUV did not stop.

It tore back onto the road and vanished around the corner.

For several seconds, all I heard was my own breathing.

Luca's arm was around my shoulders, shielding me.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

He checked anyway with his eyes, not his hands.

"Grant?"

We looked across the path.

Grant lay near a tree, stunned but moving.

Alive.

Luca stood.

Two of his men appeared from opposite ends of the park.

He pointed toward the road.

"Get the plate. Cameras. Now."

They ran.

I crawled toward the bench and dug through the snow.

"What are you doing?" Luca asked.

"The drive."

"Forget the drive."

"No."

I shoved aside wet leaves.

There.

A silver edge.

I grabbed it.

"Got it."

Luca stared at me in disbelief.

"A car just tried to run you over."

"And it failed."

"That is your response?"

"Would you prefer crying? I can schedule it for later."

He made a sound somewhere between anger and laughter.

Then his face changed.

He reached toward my cheek and stopped before touching me.

"May I?"

The question caught me completely off guard.

I nodded.

His thumb brushed a streak of dirt from my cheek.

The touch was brief.

Gentle.

Nothing like Grant's grip.

That contrast frightened me more than the SUV.

I stepped back.

Luca let me.

Across the path, Grant pushed himself upright.

"That was Marco," he said.

Luca turned.

"You saw the driver?"

"No. But I know the vehicle. Bellini Legal keeps three like it in a private garage."

"That proves almost nothing."

"Then plug in the drive."

"Not here."

Grant laughed weakly. "Still careful. Elena would approve."

Luca's expression sharpened.

"You never earned the right to say her name."

Grant looked away.

Neither did I feel like defending him.

Back in New York that evening, the drive was opened on an isolated computer by a forensic specialist Luca trusted outside his normal circle.

There were hundreds of files.

Payments from Bellini Legal Partners to Holloway Risk Group.

Photographs of me in Boston.

Reports on my work schedule.

Copies of my grandmother's old addresses.

Audio from Grant's meetings with Marco.

Then one file stopped all of us.

A voice recording dated six months earlier.

Marco's voice was unmistakable.

"If Dylan leaves Boston, do not stop her. New York is better. Rossi will eventually notice her. Once Luca knows who she is, he will lead us directly to whatever Elena left behind."

My blood went cold.

Grant had not failed when I escaped Boston.

My escape had been part of the plan.

Luca stared at the screen.

"He used me too."

The next recording began.

Marco again.

"When Elena dies, everything moves quickly. The girl will be emotional. She will trust whoever appears to protect her. Make sure that person is me."

Silence filled the room.

I thought about Marco arranging a driver.

Marco checking the fake police call.

Marco standing in the doorway with concerned eyes.