He pulled the panel shut, sealing us in darkness before a strip of fluorescent lights hummed to life.

The room was small, smelling of cold concrete and ozone.

Several computer monitors lined the back wall, displaying feeds of the estate’s perimeter.

My breath came in ragged gasps.

I looked down and saw a dark smear of red on the white silk of my skirt.

“Are you hit?” Roman asked, his hands moving over my shoulders.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

He took a deep breath and stepped back to check his own left arm.

A dark stain was spreading across his gray shirt sleeve.

“Who was that?” I asked. “Why are they shooting at us?”

Roman leaned against a metal desk, his eyes fixed on the security screens.

“They weren’t shooting at us,” he said. “They were shooting at you.”

I stared at him, my hands clutching my skirt.

“My father told me this was just about money,” I said.

“Your father lied,” Roman said.

He walked over to a steel safe in the corner of the room.

“Arthur stole something before he bargained you away,” Roman continued. “A ledger.”

“A ledger?”

“It contains the transaction history of every major family in Chicago. If it leaks, we all fall.”

He looked at me, his gaze softening just a fraction.

“They think you know where he hid it. I brought you here to keep you alive, not to punish you.”

The wall speaker crackled to life, interrupting him.

It was the voice of Elias Ward, one of the estate’s young security guards.

“Sir, the perimeter is clear, but we have a situation,” Elias said.

“Speak,” Roman commanded.

“Dr. Patel is on his way up to check on the lady and patch you up,” Elias said.

“And?” Roman asked, leaning closer to the microphone.