“I can’t do this,” I said, my throat tight. “I won’t spy for you.”

“The ledger is in his desk,” Marcus urged, ignoring my protest. “A small, black leather book with a gold clasp. It has the routing numbers for his offshore accounts.”

“He will kill me if he catches me in there.”

“He will kill you anyway once he is done using you,” Marcus said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Get the ledger. I’ll have a car waiting at the east gate tomorrow night at midnight.”

“Marcus, wait—”

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I stared at the black screen of the burner phone, my breath shallow and uneven.

The rain beat a relentless rhythm against my bedroom window, splashing against the glass in heavy, erratic sheets.

I slipped the phone back into the hidden lining of my suitcase, my heart hammering against my ribs.

If Marcus was right, staying here was just as dangerous as leaving.

But betraying Dante Russo felt like walking into a cage with a lion.

I sat on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.