THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME CARRY A SILVER TRAY ACROSS HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH A FRESH BURN ON MY RIGHT WRIST—

"Grace!"

Dominic’s roar shook the walls of the library as he shoved past me.

He dropped to his knees, his hands frantically searching for the source of the blood.

Grace groaned, her eyes fluttering open. She was clutching her left side.

"Dominic," she gasped.

"I'm here. I'm right here." He pressed his hand over hers to staunch the bleeding. It wasn't a gunshot. It was a deep laceration, like she'd been shoved against the sharp edge of the glass coffee table, which was now shattered across the floor.

I grabbed a clean linen napkin from a side table and handed it to him.

"Who did this?" Dominic demanded, his voice terrifyingly calm.

Grace winced, tears spilling onto the rug. "I... I found something."

"What did you find?"

With a trembling hand, Grace reached into the bodice of her dress and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

It was a bank statement.

"I went to my mother’s purse to get her lipstick," Grace whispered, coughing. "I found this folded inside. Dominic... the accounts."

Dominic took the paper. I watched his eyes scan the numbers.

"She's draining the trust," Dominic said, his face turning to stone. "She’s transferring millions to offshore accounts."

"She caught me," Grace sobbed. "She followed me into the library. When I confronted her, she tried to take it back. She pushed me... and locked the door from the outside."

I stared at the heavy oak doors. They weren't locked when I opened them.

"Grace," I said softly. "The doors were open."

Grace looked at me, confusion replacing the pain. "No. I heard the lock click. She left me here."

Dominic stood up slowly.

"She didn't lock it," he said. "Someone else unlocked it."

He looked at the shattered glass on the floor.

Beneath one of the jagged shards, sitting perfectly pristine on the rug, was a small, hand-drawn picture.

I stepped closer, my breath catching in my throat.

It was a drawing of a heavy iron gate.

"Arthur," I whispered.

Dominic picked up the drawing. On the back, written in frantic, jagged handwriting, were three words:

SHE IS NEXT.

Dominic’s eyes widened. "Leo is in the house."

"Dominic?" Grace cried, trying to sit up. "Who is Leo?"

Dominic knelt back down and kissed her forehead. "I’ll explain everything. But right now, you need a doctor."

He looked at me. "Sophie, stay with her. Lock this door. Do not let anyone in except me or the paramedics."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, my hands shaking.

Dominic pulled a sleek black handgun from a holster beneath his jacket.

"I'm going to stop Margaret before she leaves this house."

He walked out and pulled the heavy doors shut. The lock clicked.

I was alone with Grace.

I pressed the linen tightly to her side. "Hold on, Miss Harrington. You're going to be okay."

She stared at me, her breathing shallow. "Sophie... why did my mother have a picture of an iron gate?"

I hesitated. "That didn't fall from her purse. Someone else dropped it."

Grace’s eyes darted around the dim library.

"Sophie," she whispered, her fingers gripping my wrist. "Look at the bookshelf."

I turned my head.

In the corner of the room, behind the massive leather armchair, one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves was slightly ajar, revealing a dark, narrow passageway.

Someone had been hiding in the walls.