“No.”

Sadie shook her head.

“My father hated gambling. I never understood why he suddenly owed money, but—”

“He didn't.”

Dante interrupted calmly.

“Those payments aren't debt.”

“Then what are they?”

“Leverage.”

Sadie stared at him.

Dante continued.

“Patrick handled maintenance contracts at several buildings connected to my businesses. Three months before he died, he found invoices that didn't match actual work.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Because millions were disappearing.”

“And Vincent?”

“Controlled the contracts.”

Sadie folded her arms.

“You expect me to believe my father secretly worked for the Chicago mafia?”

Dante's jaw tightened.

“He wasn't mafia.”

“Then what was he?”

“A decent man who saw something he shouldn't have.”

The words landed harder than Sadie expected.

“My father died in a car accident.”

“I know.”

“You're suggesting—”

“No.”

Dante cut her off.

“I don't know what caused his accident. I won't invent an answer because it's convenient.”

Sadie appreciated that more than she wanted to.

“Then why didn't you help us?”

“I didn't know anyone was collecting from you.”

“How could you not know?”

“Because someone wanted the payments hidden from me.”

Sadie sat slowly.

Her entire reason for entering the mansion suddenly looked different.

“What happens now?”

Dante looked at the clock.

“Now we find out whether Vincent knows you're here.”

A phone vibrated.

Dante picked it up.

A message appeared.

His expression changed.

“What?”

He showed Sadie.

Vincent: Heard something upstairs. Everything okay?

Sadie's blood chilled.

“He knows.”

“He suspects.”

“What's the difference?”

“About ten minutes.”

Dante stood.

Sadie immediately pushed him back down.

“You're not going anywhere.”

“My house is compromised.”

“And your blood pressure is probably terrible.”

“Sadie.”

“No.”

Dante stared at her.

She stared back.

Finally he said, “You're either extremely brave or spectacularly foolish.”

“Currently underpaid.”

That earned another faint smile.

Dante called someone.

“Marco.”

A man's voice answered immediately.

“Boss?”

“Where are you?”

“South gate.”

“Come upstairs alone.”

Silence.

“Third floor?”

“Yes.”

Five minutes later, a broad man in a dark suit entered.

Marco looked at Sadie.

Then Dante.

Then the blood.

His face changed.

“Who did this?”

“We're determining that.”

Marco reached inside his jacket.

Sadie instinctively stiffened.

Dante noticed.

“Relax. Marco's with me.”

Marco frowned at Sadie.

“She shouldn't be here.”

“She saved my life.”

That silenced him.

Dante tossed him the cuff link.

Marco examined it.

“Vincent.”

“Maybe.”

“You don't believe it?”

“I believe evidence that's too convenient deserves suspicion.”

Sadie looked between them.

“Finally, something sensible.”

Marco glanced at her.

“She's always like this?”

“I've known her forty minutes.”

“And?”

Dante looked at Sadie.

“Yes.”

For the next hour, Dante and Marco quietly reconstructed the night.

Vincent had entered the estate at 12:40.

Two security cameras failed at 1:17.

At 1:31, someone used Rosa's access code on the third-floor stairwell.

Sadie's stomach dropped.

“Rosa?”

Dante shook his head.

“Codes can be copied.”

Then Marco found something else.

A security log.

A temporary maintenance credential had opened the private elevator.

Registered name:

Patrick Gallagher.

Sadie went pale.

“My father is dead.”

“Exactly,” Dante said.

Someone had deliberately used Patrick's old credentials.

Someone wanted Dante to connect the attack to the Gallagher family.

To Sadie.

Marco looked at her.

“Boss, this changes things.”

“I know.”

Sadie understood.

“If you had died tonight…”

“Your presence upstairs would make you the obvious suspect,” Dante said.

Her throat tightened.

“My fingerprints are everywhere.”

“You're domestic staff. That's explainable.”

“Not in your forbidden study.”

Dante looked at her.

“No.”

Sadie finally saw the trap.

She hadn't accidentally entered the conspiracy.

Someone had expected her to.

A sound came from downstairs.

Voices.

Several cars arrived outside.

Marco moved toward the window.

“Vincent brought company.”

Dante slowly stood.

This time Sadie didn't stop him.

He buttoned a clean black shirt Marco had retrieved from his dressing room, then pulled on a tailored charcoal jacket. The dark tattoos along his neck and hands remained visible.

Within minutes, the wounded man on the floor disappeared.

The mafia boss returned.

Sadie stared.

“You can barely stand.”

Dante adjusted his cuff.

“They don't need to know that.”

Then he looked at her.

“Stay behind me.”

Sadie shook her head.

“You're the injured one.”

“Sadie.”

“What?”

“That wasn't a medical suggestion.”

Before she could respond, someone knocked.

Vincent's voice came through the door.

“Dante?”

Dante's expression became unreadable.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

Vincent Russo smiled.

Then he saw Sadie standing beside Dante.

And for one fraction of a second, the smile vanished.

Dante saw it too.

“Something wrong, cousin?”

Vincent recovered.

“Nothing.”

His gaze settled on Sadie.

“I just didn't realize we had company.”

Dante stepped between them.

“We don't.”

Vincent smiled again.

“Then why is the maid in your private room?”

Dante answered without blinking.

“Because she belongs here.”

Sadie looked at him.

So did Vincent.

And in that instant, Dante had done something more dangerous than pointing a gun.

He had publicly placed Sadie under his protection.