THE MAFIA BOSS LET A TERRIFIED STRANGER SIT ON HIS LAP—THEN DISCOVERED HER DEAD MOTHER WAS ALIVE

The first shot shattered a rooftop light. Dante pulled me behind a concrete planter as glass rained across the terrace. Below, security officers rushed toward the street. The sedan accelerated and vanished into traffic.

"Are you hurt?" Dante asked.

"No." My voice shook. "You?"

"No."

We stayed down until Gabriel confirmed the rooftop was clear. The shot had come from a nearby building, not the car itself. Cameron had wanted us to see him before the attack.

"He wants me to be afraid again," I said.

"It's reasonable to be afraid."

"I'm not giving him my life back."

Brooks placed us in temporary protective housing. I spent two days giving statements and identifying Cameron's old messages. Elena helped me obtain a protective order. It couldn't stop a determined criminal by itself, but it established a clear record of what he'd done.

Tessa identified the sedan as one used by a Hale Foundation contractor. Investigators recovered footage of Cameron entering a private airfield. A flight plan had been filed under a false name.

He was preparing to flee.

Then my mother remembered something important. Cameron had once told her he would never leave Chicago without the one thing that could destroy his father: the original ledger signed by Richard Hale.

"Where is it?" Brooks asked.

Evelyn shook her head. "Cameron said it was buried where his family kept its secrets."

I thought of the Hale estate, the immaculate gardens, the family portraits, and the locked conservatory Cameron had never let me enter.

"The greenhouse," I said. "He used to go there after every fight with his father."

A search warrant followed. Behind a removable stone beneath the greenhouse floor, investigators found a sealed metal box. Inside were signed ledgers, cash transfer records, and a small recorder.

The recorder contained an argument between Richard and Cameron. The senator demanded the destruction of evidence. Cameron threatened to reveal everything unless his father made him the foundation's chairman.

There was no love in their voices. Only leverage.

Brooks played the recording for me in her office. "This will help establish motive and conspiracy," she said. "But Cameron is still missing."

I stared at the waveform on the screen. "He always said his father taught him how the world works."

"He may have been telling the truth about that part."

By evening, federal agents had intercepted Cameron at a private hangar. He was arrested while attempting to board a charter plane. The footage showed him shouting that he knew powerful people, that everyone would regret this, that Nora Bennett belonged to him.

I watched the clip once. Then I closed it.

He didn't belong in my living room, my thoughts, or my future.

The next morning, I met Dante in a quiet park. We walked past bare trees and children feeding ducks. For the first time since Saint, there were no guards close enough to hear our conversation.

"Cameron is in custody," I said.

"I heard."

"I expected to feel happy. I mostly feel tired."

"You don't have to feel anything on schedule."

I leaned against him. He wrapped his good arm around me.

"What happens to you now?" I asked.

He looked across the pond. "I have a meeting with federal prosecutors tomorrow."

My heart tightened. "Are they charging you?"

"They haven't decided."

For a moment, the peaceful park felt terribly fragile.