Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN WITH THE SILVER EMBLEMThe cellar had never felt this small.
Rain hammered against the narrow windows near the ceiling, each drop sounding like a fingernail dragged across glass.
I stared at the emblem hanging from Evelyn Shaw's neck.
A silver wolf.
Its head was turned sideways.
Three tiny scratches ran beneath one eye.
I had seen that symbol only twice in my life.
The first time, it was carved into the chest of a dead man.
The second time, it appeared beside a photograph that had nearly started a war between three Chicago families.
The Wolf.
An organization that technically didn't exist.
A ghost network of mercenaries, intelligence brokers, smugglers, and killers who sold information to the highest bidder.
They didn't control territory.
They controlled secrets.
And ten years ago, I had ordered the execution of the only man I knew who had ever worked for them.
I looked back at Evelyn.
"Where did you get that?"
She slowly closed her fingers around the emblem.
"From someone who trusted me."
"Name him."
"No."
My jaw tightened.
"You're standing in my house."
"I know."
"You were caught training my daughter in a locked cellar."
"I know."
"You are wearing the symbol of an organization responsible for at least eleven murders connected to my business."
"Nine," she corrected.
I stared at her.
She didn't blink.
"Nine confirmed murders," Evelyn said. "The other two were made to look like accidents."
Grace stood between us, breathing quietly.
She was twelve years old.
Blind since birth.
And somehow, at that exact moment, she seemed like the person least afraid in the room.
"Dad," she said.
I looked at her.
"Go upstairs."
"No."
"Grace."
"I want to know why she came here."
I frowned.
"Because I fired her."
"No."
Grace tilted her head.
"That's not what I mean."
Evelyn looked at my daughter.
Something passed between them.
Something I couldn't understand.
"What aren't you telling me?" I asked.
Grace's fingers tightened around the wooden baton.
"I asked Evelyn to teach me because I heard people talking."
My stomach dropped.
"What people?"
"Men."
"Where?"
"In the house."
I stepped closer.
"How many?"
"Three."
My hand instinctively moved toward my coat.
"What did they say?"
Grace swallowed.
"They said I shouldn't live long enough to become eighteen."
The room went silent.
I looked at Evelyn.
She gave the smallest nod.
"Who were they?"
Grace shook her head.
"I don't know."
"Did you recognize their voices?"
"One."
"Whose?"
She hesitated.
"Uncle Vincent."
My blood turned to ice.
Vincent Caruso was my younger brother.
My business partner.
The man who had been beside me for twenty years.
The man who held my daughter when she was born.
I felt something inside me collapse.
"No," I said.
Grace's head turned toward me.
"Dad..."
"No."
I backed away.
"Vincent would never say that."
Evelyn stepped forward.
"You need to stop protecting people because they're family."
My eyes snapped toward her.
"Stay out of this."
"I tried."
She reached into her pocket.
A small phone landed on the table beside the training mat.
"I recorded them."
I stared at it.
For the first time, Evelyn looked tired.
Not afraid.
Not nervous.
Tired.
"They came into your house three nights ago," she said. "They thought everyone was asleep."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because if I told you immediately, whoever sent them would know you were suspicious."
"And you decided to train my daughter instead?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Evelyn's expression hardened.
"Because they aren't coming for you first."
She looked at Grace.
"They're coming for her."
Grace didn't move.
My daughter had always hated being treated like glass.
I'd spent twelve years convincing myself that my wealth, my guards, the iron gates, and the men with guns outside our house could keep her safe.
But suddenly every lock I'd installed seemed useless.
The biggest threat had already walked through the front door.
I picked up the phone.
There was one audio file.
I pressed play.
Static crackled.
Then voices.
"...the girl has to disappear."
Another voice answered.
"Caruso will kill anyone who touches her."
"Then don't touch her."
A pause.
"Make it look like an accident."
My face went numb.
Then a third voice spoke.
A voice I knew.
My brother.
Vincent.
"We wait until the anniversary."
I stopped breathing.
The recording ended.
I looked at Evelyn.
"What anniversary?"
She didn't answer.
"Tell me."
"Your wife's death."
The room seemed to tilt.
My wife, Elena, had died six years earlier.
Car accident.
At least, that was what I'd been told.
I had spent years blaming myself for not stopping her from driving that night.
"You knew about the accident?"
"I knew it wasn't an accident."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"How?"
Evelyn's eyes flickered toward Grace.
"Because your wife knew the truth."
I stepped toward her.
"What truth?"
Before she could answer, every light in the cellar went out.
Darkness swallowed us.
Grace didn't scream.
Instead, she whispered:
"Someone is downstairs."
I froze.
"What?"
Grace lifted one finger.
"Not downstairs."
She tilted her head.
"Above us."
A muffled thump echoed somewhere in the mansion.
Then another.
A gunshot cracked through the ceiling.
Grace dropped instantly.
Evelyn grabbed her and rolled behind the stone wall.
I drew my pistol.
My phone vibrated.
One message.
FROM VINCENT.
DON'T TRUST THE WOMAN.
A second message arrived before I could process the first.
SHE DIDN'T COME TO PROTECT GRACE.
Then the third.
SHE CAME TO TAKE HER.
I looked at Evelyn.
She was already staring at me.
And then Grace whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Dad."
"What?"
"The person upstairs..."
May you like
She pointed toward the ceiling.
"...smells like Mom."
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