“TAKE THAT COAT OFF MY DAUGHTER, YOU FILTHY MAID!” THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE SCREAMED—BUT WHEN HE SAW THE THREE BLUE STITCHES I HAD SEWN INSIDE THE

“Me?” I asked, my voice barely a squeak. I clutched the silver thimble tightly in my palm. “Why me?”

Agent Foster set her leather briefcase on the kitchen island and snapped the brass latches open. “Because, Miss Hayes, you are the only person who can keep this family alive.”

Isabella pulled Sophie, who had wandered out of her bedroom, close to her side. Dominic stepped between me and the agent.

“Rebecca has nothing to do with this,” Dominic said firmly. “She’s a civilian.”

Agent Foster pulled a glossy photograph from her briefcase and laid it flat on the counter. It was a surveillance photo of a man stepping out of a black town car. He was heavily built, with cold, dead eyes and a scar running through his left eyebrow.

“Yuri Volkov,” Dominic breathed, recognizing him instantly. “The head of the Romanov syndicate.”

“Exactly,” Foster said. “He’s the one who sent you that letter this morning. Yes, we intercepted it, copied it, and let it pass through to see how you’d react. Volkov is stepping in to take over your father’s territory, Dominic. And he’s tying up loose ends. Which means eliminating you, your wife, and your child.”

“I have five million dollars hidden away,” Dominic said. “I’ll pay the debt. I’ll buy him off.”

“Volkov doesn’t want your money,” Foster replied coldly. “He wants the prestige of wiping out the last Moretti. He’s already dispatched a kill team to Italy. They arrive in less than twelve hours.”

Isabella gasped, burying her face against Sophie’s hair.

“Then move us,” Dominic demanded. “Put us in a new safe house.”

“We can’t keep running you,” Foster sighed. “Volkov has moles inside Interpol. Anywhere we put you, he will find you. The only way to stop him is to cut off the head of the snake. We need to arrest Volkov tonight in New York, during a sit-down with his lieutenants. But we don’t have enough hard evidence to authorize the raid.”

She turned her gaze back to me.

“That’s where you come in, Miss Hayes.”

“I don't understand,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve never met this man. I just cleaned houses.”

“Before you worked for the Morettis,” Foster said, pulling out a second file, “you worked for a wealthy socialite named Victoria Sterling. Is that correct?”

My stomach dropped. Victoria. The woman who had started this entire nightmare. She was currently sitting in federal prison awaiting trial.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I cleaned her penthouse for two years before she moved in with Dominic.”

“Victoria Sterling was laundering money for Volkov through her high-end art galleries long before she targeted Dominic,” Foster explained. “She kept physical ledgers. Old-school books. If we get those ledgers, we can raid Volkov tonight and put him away for life. Your family is safe forever.”

“Where are the ledgers?” Dominic asked.

“Victoria claims they are hidden inside her old penthouse in Manhattan. But she refuses to tell us exactly where unless we grant her full immunity. The DOJ denied her request.” Foster looked at me intently. “Miss Hayes, you cleaned that penthouse top to bottom for two years. You know every hidden panel, every false bottom, every safe in that apartment. We need you to fly to New York tonight and find those books.”

“No,” Dominic barked immediately. “Absolutely not. I am not sending Rebecca back into the fire.”

“It’s the only way, Dominic,” Foster countered. “If she doesn't find those books, Volkov’s men will be at this door by morning.”

I looked at the silver thimble in my hand. Then I looked at Sophie. She was looking at me with those huge, trusting brown eyes. The little girl who had given me a reason to be brave.

“I’ll do it,” I said quietly.

“Rebecca, no,” Isabella pleaded, grabbing my arm.

“I know that penthouse,” I said, my voice growing stronger. “Victoria was paranoid. She never trusted digital safes. She liked physical hiding spots. I can find it.”

Agent Foster nodded. “A jet is waiting at the private airstrip. We leave in twenty minutes.”

I packed a small overnight bag. Before I walked out the door, Dominic pulled me into a tight embrace.

“You come back to us, Rebecca,” he whispered fiercely. “You promise me.”

“I promise,” I said.

I knelt down and kissed Sophie’s forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it, sweetie.”

Eight hours later, I was standing in the dark, cold foyer of Victoria Sterling’s Manhattan penthouse. The FBI had cleared the building, but Agent Foster waited down in the lobby to maintain a low profile. I was alone in the massive, silent apartment.

I turned on my flashlight. The beam swept over the white leather furniture and the ridiculous modern art pieces. I walked straight toward Victoria’s massive walk-in closet.

I remembered cleaning it. I remembered the heavy, cedar-lined shoe rack at the back. It had always felt a little too shallow for the space it occupied.

I knelt down, pressing my hands against the back panel of the shoe rack. I pushed hard on the bottom left corner. There was a faint click. The panel popped open, revealing a dark cavity.

I reached inside and pulled out two thick, leather-bound books. The ledgers.

I smiled in the darkness. I had them.

“I knew you’d know where they were,” a voice suddenly said from behind me.

I spun around, shining my flashlight toward the bedroom door.