Nineteen months of cleaning the mansion of a man Chicago whispered was a mafia boss had taught me never to interfere in his dangerous world, but nothing prepared me for the afternoon he collapsed in front of his armed guards. While grown men panicked, my four-year-old daughter pressed a pink toy stethoscope against his chest and whispered, “Don’t be scared. I’m a doctor,” before noticing something about his mouth that turned her innocent game into something terrifyingly real.

Within ten minutes of Dr. Vance's arrival, the entire Petrov estate was transformed into a fortress under siege.

Heavy iron security shutters slammed down over every window on the ground floor with a deafening metallic roar. The main gates at the front of the property were locked down electronically, cutting off the estate from the rest of Chicago's Gold Coast neighborhood. High-frequency signal jammers were activated, turning off cell service and Wi-Fi across the entire ten-acre compound.

Alexander was stabilized—barely.

Dr. Vance had managed to restart his heart after it stopped twice on the study floor. They moved his unconscious body to a fully equipped medical room hidden behind a reinforced steel door in the basement. Tubes ran into his nose and arms, monitoring his weak, erratic pulse.

I sat on a leather couch in the secondary living room, holding Sophie in my lap. She was fast asleep, utterly exhausted by the terror of the afternoon, her small hands still clutching her toy medical kit like a shield.

The door opened, and Daniel walked in.

He had removed his suit jacket, rolling up his white sleeves to reveal dark, intricate tattoos wrapping around his forearms. He carried a silver tray with a cup of warm chamomile tea and a glass of juice.

He set the tray on the glass coffee table in front of me and sat down in the armchair opposite us.

"Is he going to live?" I asked in a strained whisper, afraid to wake my daughter.

"Dr. Vance says the next twelve hours are critical," Daniel replied softly, rubbing his face with both hands. "The poison was designed to cause an instantaneous heart attack. If your daughter hadn't noticed the discoloration on his lips... if Vance hadn't administered the atropine within five minutes... Alexander would be dead right now."

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, staring intently at me.

"You saved his life, Emily. You and Sophie."

"We just happened to be there," I whispered, shaking my head. "Daniel, what's happening? Who would do this to him?"

"Alexander was scheduled to meet with the heads of the Five Families of Chicago tomorrow morning," Daniel explained, his tone flat and icy. "They were supposed to sign a peace treaty dividing the shipping routes along Lake Michigan. Someone wanted Alexander out of the picture before that meeting could take place. If he dies, his empire falls into chaos, and whoever poisoned him takes control of the entire Midwest network."

"It was Viktor," I said directly.

Daniel froze. His blue eyes narrowed into sharp slits. "What did you say?"

I leaned closer, keeping my voice down. "Right after the paramedics rushed into the study, I saw a metal seal on the floor near the door. It had blue automotive grease on it. And when I looked up at the second-floor balcony, Viktor was standing there. He was watching everything. He didn't look surprised, Daniel. He looked like he was waiting for someone to announce Alexander was dead."

Daniel stayed silent for a long moment. His face turned into a hard mask of stone.

"Viktor has been Alexander's driver and mechanic for eleven years," Daniel murmured, thinking aloud. "He has full clearance to every room in this house. He knows the security camera blind spots better than anyone."

"Where is he now?" I asked, my heart hammering against my chest.

"He's downstairs in the garage, preparing the armored cars in case we need to transport Alexander to a secure facility," Daniel said, standing up slowly. He reached into his belt and unclipped a compact silver handgun, checking the chamber before sliding it back into his holster. "Stay here, Emily. Lock this door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me. Do you understand?"

"Daniel, please be careful," I begged, standing up with Sophie in my arms.

"This is my job," Daniel said coldly. "Alexander gave me a life when I had nothing. I won't let a traitor burn his house down."

He stepped out into the hallway and pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him. I heard the lock click into place.

I carried Sophie over to the soft velvet sofa, laying her down gently and covering her with a warm wool blanket. I kissed her forehead, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. I had brought my daughter into a warzone thinking it was just a cleaning job.

I walked over to the reinforced window shutters, peering through the tiny slit in the metal casing.

Outside, night had fallen over Chicago. A heavy, dark fog was rolling off Lake Michigan, swallowing the tall skyscrapers in a grey mist. Thunder rumbled in the distance, promising a violent autumn storm.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flickered and died.

The hum of the central heating system cut out instantly. The faint emergency lights along the floorboards flickered once, twice, and then went completely black.