“Who kept the physical books for the Vescari family before tonight?”

Declan turned slowly, his eyes narrowing in the dim light of the library lamp.

“Roman did,” Declan said. “He keeps everything. Why?”

I held up the ledger, pointing to the thin strip of white paper left near the binding.

“A page is missing,” I said.

Declan took three long strides toward the table and snatched the book from my hands.

He stared at the binding, his jaw tightening.

“That’s impossible,” Declan growled. “Roman doesn’t make mistakes.”

“He didn’t make a mistake,” I said. “He did it on purpose.”

Declan stared at me, his chest rising and falling.

Before he could speak, a pair of headlights cut through the dark window, sweeping across the library ceiling.

Declan froze, his hand tightening on his gun.

The engine sound outside was too fast, too loud for a guard patrol.

“Get down,” Declan hissed.

He didn’t wait for me to move.

His heavy hand slammed into my shoulder, throwing me flat against the hardwood floor behind the solid oak desk.

The ledger flew from my grip, sliding across the polished wood.