She traded one reckless night with Manhattan’s most lethal man to pay for her father’s burial, but the single capsule he handed her at dawn couldn't erase the secret she took away with her.

Bella woke up to the smell of smoke. The bunker’s emergency red lights were flashing. The heavy steel door at the top of the stairs had been blown open.

She grabbed her phone to call Lucas, but there was no signal. A pair of heavy boots echoed down the concrete steps.

“Well, well,” a raspy voice echoed.

Marcus Thorne stepped into the light. He was an older man, his face scarred and weathered, leaning heavily on a silver-tipped cane. Behind him stood Lucas’s trusted security chief, holding a rifle.

“You have your father’s eyes,” Marcus smiled cruelly, looking Bella up and down. “It’s a shame. I thought I wiped out the Moretti infestation twenty-five years ago. But cockroaches always survive.”

“Don't touch me,” Bella backed away, grabbing a heavy brass lamp from the bedside table.

“I don't intend to. You’re bait.” Marcus pulled out a burner phone and tossed it onto the bed. It was already on an active call.

“Lucas?” Marcus spoke loudly. “I have a slight problem. Your little stray dog and her mutt are currently in my custody.”

Through the phone’s speaker, Bella heard a sound that chilled her to the bone. It wasn't a yell. It was a low, guttural roar of a predator that had just been unleashed.

“If you touch one hair on her head, Marcus, I will skin you alive.”