AFTER SHE SAVED A MAFIA BOSS, 200 MEN SURROUNDED HER HOUSE—BUT HIS NEXT WORDS LEFT HER SPEECHLESS

By the time I returned to my apartment, the narrow residential street looked as though an entire funeral procession had taken a wrong turn.

Except there was no funeral.

And every vehicle was black.

Marco had taken me to a nearby secure medical clinic first, where Adrian Russo had been evaluated by an independent physician. His fever and wound complications required proper medical treatment, and I refused to discuss anything else until he accepted it.

To his credit, he did.

Afterward, I'd insisted on returning home to collect my work identification, medication, and a few personal belongings before going anywhere else.

That was when the situation became absurd.

One SUV had become three.

Three had become twelve.

And by the time we reached my block, a line of black vehicles stretched down both sides of the street.

Men in dark suits stood along the sidewalk, beneath the trees, and beside the parked cars.

I stared through the window.

"Marco."

"Yes, Miss Shaw?"

"Why does my street look like the opening scene of an expensive crime movie?"

He cleared his throat.

"Mr. Russo increased security."

"By how much?"

Marco glanced at the dashboard.

I followed his eyes.

A message illuminated the screen.

ALL 200 PERSONNEL IN POSITION.

I slowly turned toward him.

"Two hundred?"

He didn't answer.

"TWO HUNDRED?"

"Some are positioned around the surrounding blocks."

"Did your boss order a security operation or announce an invasion?"

The corner of Marco's mouth twitched.

"With respect, Miss Shaw, we prefer the term protective deployment."

"I prefer the term excessive."

At that moment, the rear passenger door opened.

Adrian stood outside.

He had changed into an immaculate black suit, black shirt, and long overcoat, although a careful observer could still see the fatigue beneath his composed expression.

His doctor had cleared him for transport with strict instructions and follow-up care.

I made a mental note to remind him of every single one.

He extended a hand.

"Emma."

I ignored it and climbed out myself.

"Are you insane?"

Several nearby men suddenly became fascinated by the pavement.

Adrian looked at me calmly.

"That depends on the question."

"Why are there two hundred men outside my home?"

"Because I received credible information that someone intended to take you before morning."

"Then call the police!"

"I did."

That stopped me.

"You what?"

"Marco has provided the responding officers with the attempted-entry report. My attorneys are cooperating with investigators."

"Then why all this?"

"Because I don't know whether the people pursuing you intend to wait for the investigation."

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Then looked around again.

An elderly woman from the neighboring townhouse stood on her porch holding a grocery bag.

Mrs. Henderson.

Seventy-three years old.

Widowed.

The undisputed neighborhood champion of knowing everybody's business.

She was staring at Adrian like she'd just discovered a television celebrity in her flower bed.

"Emma!" she called.

I wanted the pavement to open beneath me.

"Hello, Mrs. Henderson."

"Is this your boyfriend?"

Somewhere behind Adrian, somebody coughed suspiciously.

"No!"

Mrs. Henderson looked at the line of SUVs.

"Well, he certainly knows how to make an entrance."

Adrian inclined his head politely.

"Good evening, ma'am."

"Handsome, too."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank her!" I whispered.

He looked at me.

"Would that be impolite?"

I nearly screamed.

Marco stepped away, shoulders shaking.

After Mrs. Henderson finally retreated indoors, I turned back to Adrian.

"Get these men away from my neighbors."

"Done."

He looked toward Marco.

"Reposition the outer teams. Keep the street accessible and the entrances clear."

Marco began speaking into his radio.

Within minutes, dozens of men returned to their vehicles and dispersed toward adjacent locations.

I folded my arms.

"You could have done that from the beginning."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you?"

His gaze settled on me.

"Because I was frightened."

That was not the answer I expected.

I studied his face.

Adrian Russo didn't look like a frightened man.

He looked like the sort of man other people became frightened of.

But something in his eyes had changed.

"Of what?" I asked.

"Arriving too late."

Rain began falling harder.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he reached into his overcoat.

I stiffened.

He withdrew a small photograph.

It was old.

The edges were bent, and the colors had faded.

In it, three men stood outside a loading warehouse.

One was a younger Adrian Russo.

Another was a heavyset older man I didn't recognize.

The third—

My heart seemed to stop.

"Dad?"

I took the photograph.

Daniel Shaw stood beneath the warehouse sign, smiling awkwardly at the camera.

He wore his usual navy work jacket.

His left hand rested on Adrian's shoulder.

"You knew him?"

Adrian nodded.

"I was twenty-nine. He supervised a security upgrade at one of my father's properties."

My fingertips trembled against the photograph.

"Why did he never mention you?"

"Because by the time we became friends, he was already afraid of what he'd discovered."

"What did he discover?"

Adrian looked toward my doorway.

"May we speak inside?"

I hesitated.

Then opened the door.

He followed me into the tiny living room.

For a moment, I became painfully aware of the chipped coffee table, the folded laundry on the armchair, and the half-eaten sandwich still sitting in my kitchen.

Adrian appeared not to notice any of it.

Instead, he stopped in front of my father's photograph.

His expression changed.

"He kept this one."

"What?"

Adrian pointed toward the frame.

"I took that picture."

I looked at him.

"You did?"

"At a company picnic. Your father said he hated photographs, but he wanted one you could put beside your bed when he worked late."

My chest tightened.

I hadn't known.

I sat down because my legs no longer seemed dependable.

Adrian remained standing until I gestured toward the opposite chair.

"Tell me everything."

He slowly lowered himself into it.

"Eleven years ago, your father discovered that shipments passing through Halcyon had been deliberately mislabeled. He believed the facility was being used to conceal criminal transactions connected to several businesses."

"My father was a maintenance supervisor."

"He was also meticulous. He noticed discrepancies in equipment access records and security schedules."

"Did he tell your father?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

Adrian looked away.

"My father told him to stop asking questions."

A heavy silence settled between us.

"Daniel came to me instead," he continued. "I was working overseas when he called. He said he had copied evidence and wanted to meet me as soon as I returned."

"But he died first."

"Yes."

I pressed my fingers against my lips.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know you existed until after the investigation closed. By then, your mother had moved, and every inquiry I made was intercepted by people I no longer trusted."

I wanted to be angry.

Part of me was.

But another part recognized the exhaustion in his voice.

"What changed now?"

"Three weeks ago, I found a sealed envelope inside my father's private records."

He reached into his jacket again.

This time, he withdrew a yellowed piece of paper.

Across the front was my father's handwriting.

FOR ADRIAN RUSSO — IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME.

My breath caught.

Adrian carefully opened it.

Inside was a short message.

They know I copied the original records. I didn't leave them at Halcyon. If I disappear, remember what I told you about the safest place to hide something.

I stared at the words.

"What does that mean?"

"I've spent three weeks trying to understand it."

Then Adrian turned the paper over.

On the back, my father had written one final sentence.

The answer is with the girl who fixes broken things.

I stared at it.

My father had always called me his little repairwoman.

Because when I was eight, I used to take broken clocks apart and insist that I could make time work again.

Adrian watched my expression.

"Emma?"

I stood so suddenly that the chair scraped against the floor.