Adrian stared at the dead phone.

Thomas Ashton was dead. Owen was being held by a Chicago syndicate. And Brielle was downstairs, completely unaware that her brother had just been murdered over her fiancé’s child.

Adrian turned to me.

“Rachel. You have a daughter, don't you?”

The question caught me off guard. “Yes, sir. Maya. She’s seven.”

“Who is watching her tonight?”

“My mother. At my apartment.”

Adrian pulled a sleek black wallet from his pocket. He took out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and handed them to me.

“Take Lucy. Get in my private SUV out back. Marcus will drive you to your apartment. You pack a bag for your daughter and your mother, and Marcus will take all of you to my secure safehouse in the Poconos.”

I stared at the money. “Sir, I’m just the maid.”

“You are the only person in this house my daughter currently trusts,” Adrian corrected, looking at Lucy, who was watching us with wide, terrified eyes. “And whoever set Thomas up to do this knows exactly who works for me. You are a loose end. They will use your daughter to get to me.”

My blood ran cold.

He was right.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I am going to get my son,” Adrian said. He reached under his tuxedo jacket and pulled a heavy black pistol from his shoulder holster. He checked the magazine, snapped it back into place, and racked the slide.

Ten minutes later, I was rushing down the back service stairs with Lucy. She was clutching her mother’s favorite blanket tightly against her chest.

It was raining heavily outside.

Marcus, the massive head of security, was waiting by a blacked-out SUV in the alleyway.

“Get in, quick,” Marcus grunted, opening the door.

I helped Lucy climb into the backseat. As I turned to get in, my foot kicked something on the wet pavement.

I looked down.

It was a wooden rosary.

The beads were worn smooth, the silver cross tarnished.

I picked it up.

My heart stopped.

I knew this rosary. I had seen it every Sunday for the last seven months.

It belonged to Adrian’s aunt. The quiet, elderly woman who had been sitting at the engagement table. The woman who supposedly took Owen tonight, before Brielle admitted to sending him away.

I looked up at Marcus.

“Marcus… Adrian’s aunt. Was she at the table when the lockdown started?”

Marcus frowned. “No. She left early. Said she wasn't feeling well. Why?”

The reversal hit me with sickening clarity.

The Chicago syndicate didn't approach Thomas Ashton.

Adrian’s aunt had approached them.

“Answer one, open two,” I whispered to myself.

Why would Adrian’s own aunt orchestrate the kidnapping of his son?

Before I could tell Marcus, the alleyway lit up with blinding headlights.

Two black sedans blocked the exit of the alley.

Four men stepped out into the pouring rain. They were heavily armed.

Marcus reached for his weapon, but a red laser dot appeared directly on his chest.

“Hands off the piece, Marcus,” one of the men yelled over the rain.

Marcus slowly raised his hands.

The lead man walked forward. He looked at me, shivering in my uniform, holding the wooden rosary.

Then, he looked into the back of the SUV at Lucy.

He smiled.

“Change of plans,” the man said. “The boss decided one kid isn't enough leverage. We’re taking the girl, too.”

TITLE: THE MAID’S BARGAIN