He had strolled into grand jury testimonies with a smirk cold enough to freeze blood. He had walked past federal agents while detectives averted their gazes. He had moved through the darkest streets of Brooklyn in a tailored charcoal overcoat, and entire neighborhoods seemed to hold their breath until he was gone.

The illusion of peace shattered forty-eight hours later.

Julian was at the docks, overseeing a massive shipment, when his encrypted phone rang. It was Mateo.

“Boss. We have a problem,” Mateo’s voice was tense. “We caught one of the Moretti soldiers trying to slip out of the city. We interrogated him. Silas isn’t hiding in Brooklyn.”

“Where is he?” Julian growled.

“He’s been inside the building, Julian. The Avery. He paid off the night concierge. He knows Clara is in the penthouse.”

Julian’s blood turned to liquid nitrogen. “Secure the building. I’m ten minutes away.”

In the penthouse, Clara was putting a kettle on the stove. Her father was asleep, and Mia was at the library studying.

The power in the apartment suddenly cut out, plunging the penthouse into absolute darkness.

Clara froze. The backup generators should have kicked in immediately.

A soft, electronic chime echoed from the front foyer. The digital lock on the heavy security door had been bypassed.

Clara’s heart slammed against her ribs. She remembered the layout of the penthouse. She grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the counter, gripping the handle so tightly her knuckles turned white, and crept toward the hallway.

“Clara,” a voice echoed in the dark. A voice she recognized from the basement garage weeks ago. Silas.

“Julian took everything from me,” Silas called out, his footsteps slow, moving across the hardwood. “He burned my accounts. He put a bounty on my head. I have nothing left but spite. And I know what he values most now.”

Clara backed away, moving silently toward her father’s room. She had to protect him.

Suddenly, a flashlight beam swept across the hallway, catching her in its blinding glare. Silas stood ten feet away, a suppressed pistol raised and pointed directly at her chest. He looked deranged, his expensive suit rumpled, his eyes wild.

“You should have just kept mopping the floors, sweetheart,” Silas sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger.