A hundred and eighty-seven people watched Chicago’s most feared mafia boss roll backward into twelve feet of freezing water—and not one of them screamed.

I sat shivering on a velvet-upholstered armchair near the roaring hearth, still wrapped in a thick, dry wool blanket one of the housekeepers had grudgingly tossed at me. My hair was dripping into my lap, and my clearance-rack blue dress lay in a soggy heap by the door where I had abandoned it.

Julian sat behind his massive mahogany desk, wearing a dry charcoal cashmere sweater. The only sign of his near-death experience was the unnatural pallor of his skin and the slight tremor in the hand holding a glass of amber scotch.

The heavy oak door swung open, and Victoria Vescari stepped into the room.

She didn't knock. She moved with the fluid, predatory grace of a high-society cat, her cream silk dress whispering against the Persian rug. Her eyes flicked briefly toward me with undisguised venom before settling on her brother.

"Julian," she said, her voice dripping with smooth, manufactured concern. "The board members are asking if the afternoon summit should be postponed. Given... the unfortunate accident."

Julian didn't look up from his glass. "Accident, Victoria?"

A micro-expression of tension flickered across Victoria’s flawless jawline. "Of course. What else would it be? A mechanical failure of the left steering bearing. Maintenance will be dealt with severely."

"Maintenance," Julian repeated softly. He took a slow sip of his scotch, the ice clinking against the crystal. "Strange how the left bearing failed precisely thirty seconds after you finished your conversation with the councilman about the port expansion contracts, isn't it, sister?"

Victoria’s posture stiffened. "Are you implying that I—"

"I am not implying anything," Julian interrupted, his voice dropping into a register so cold that the air in the room seemed to freeze. "I am stating a fact. One hundred and eighty-seven people stood on that terrace. My security detail. My investors. My family. And when my chair went over the edge, not a single soul moved. In fact, someone took the trouble to whisper a warning to the only person foolish enough to get wet."

He raised his dark, intense eyes from his glass and locked them directly onto me.

"Maya Hayes," Julian said, testing my fake name on his tongue as if it tasted like poison. "Or whatever your real name happens to be. Eleven days ago, you walked into my human resources office with forged references from a phantom corporation, begging for an entry-level secretarial job that pays less than you spend on coffee in a month. Today, you happen to be standing right behind me when I take a swim, and you happen to be a certified open-water rescue swimmer."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my chin up, refusing to shrink under his gaze. If I showed fear, I was dead.

"People lie on resumes to get jobs, Mr. Vescari," I said, my voice steady despite the cold rattling my bones. "Especially when the company they’re applying to is run by a man the FBI has tried to indict three times. If I hadn't lied about my background, your security team would have thrown my application in the shredder before I finished spelling my name."

Victoria let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Julian, she’s a plant. An operative. Look at her—she’s an FBI informant, or worse, an assassin sent by the Outfit to finish what the car bomb started."

"An assassin who gives mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and pulls you out of a submerged wheelchair?" Julian countered dryly, never breaking eye contact with me. "That is a remarkably inefficient hitman, Victoria."

"She’s buying time," Victoria insisted, stepping closer to the desk, her voice rising in urgency. "Look at her background check! There are holes in her employment history large enough to drive a truck through. We should have her thrown in the basement holding cells until she confesses who sent her."

Julian slowly set his glass down on the mahogany wood. The resulting clack sounded like a gavel falling in a courtroom.

"Leave us, Victoria."

"Julian—"

"I said, leave us."

Victoria’s nostrils flared. She shot me one final, murderous glare that promised violence before turning on her heel and storming out of the study, slamming the heavy oak door behind her with a concussive thud.

The silence returned, heavier this time, pregnant with unspoken secrets.

Julian wheeled himself out from behind the desk, moving closer to the hearth where I sat. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—a dense, dark gravity that commanded absolute submission.

"Who told you not to touch me, Maya?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," I lied smoothly. "With the wind off the lake and the string quartet playing, I couldn't see who was standing behind me. It was just a voice."

Julian studied my face for a long, agonizing minute, searching my eyes for a micro-telltale sign of deceit. I had spent months practicing keeping my face a blank slate while investigating my brother’s disappearance; I gave him nothing.

A slow, humorless smile touched the corners of Julian’s mouth.

"You are a terrible liar, Maya. But you are a remarkably good swimmer." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, metallic object, tossing it onto the velvet blanket in my lap.

It was my other pump—the one I had lost in the flower bed when I jumped into the lake.

"My men found it in the hydrangeas," Julian said smoothly. "They also found your real purse hidden inside the dropped-ceiling panel of the third-floor women’s restroom yesterday morning. Inside was a notebook containing newspaper clippings about Leo Hayes—your younger brother, who vanished from the docks three weeks after our syndicate acquired the shipping yard."

The blood drained entirely from my face. My breath caught in my throat.

"You're investigating me," I whispered.

"In my line of work, Maya, trusting a stranger is a bullet to the brain," Julian replied, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic rumble. "Your brother stumbled into something he shouldn't have seen at Dock 4. He got in over his head with a smuggling ring that uses my name as an umbrella while operating behind my back. You think I killed him. You came here to find proof, and you ended up pulling me out of the lake."

He maneuvered his wheelchair closer, stopping inches from my knees.

"So here is our new arrangement," Julian said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with terrifying clarity. "Someone in this house—someone very close to me—tried to murder me today. They thought I was securely strapped into a sinking steel cage, and they made damn sure nobody would interfere. They wanted me dead."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room.

"You want to find your brother? Help me find the traitor sitting at my own table. Because if you walk out those front gates right now, my guards will put a bullet in your spine before you reach the driveway. But if you stay... I will give you the men who took your brother."

I stared at the mafia boss who had nearly died an hour ago, realizing with a sickening jolt that my life had just become entirely forfeit. I had no escape route. I had no allies.