“Be ready,” he breathed against my ear, so softly the microphone on his chest couldn’t possibly pick it up.

He pulled back, his face instantly turning back into the mask of the syndicate boss.

“Let’s go, Miller,” Adrian said.

Miller pointed a finger at me. “Stay put, Mrs. DeLuca. My guard is right outside.”

They walked out, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind them.

The room fell instantly quiet, save for the hum of the heater and the steady beep of the monitor.

I lay there, my hands clutching the hospital sheet, every muscle in my body tense.

Outside, the wind slammed a sheet of icy sleet against the double-paned glass.

Ten minutes passed like hours.

I watched the second hand on the wall clock sweep around, its ticking sound loud in the silence.

Suddenly, the small black radio on the bedside table—the one Miller had left behind for the guard—crackled to life.

A voice, thick with static, spoke through the speaker.

“Miller, we have a situation in the basement,” the voice said.

I froze, holding my breath.