She wore black leather gloves, her hands folded neatly in front of her waist.

Behind her, the headlights of the town car cut through the dark, throwing her long, thin shadow across the floor toward us.

“Put the gun down before Harold has to hurt you,” Victoria said.

Her voice was quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of anger.

Chloe backed up until her shoulder hit a stack of rotting wooden pallets.

“Stay back,” Chloe screamed, her voice cracking. “I’ll shoot her. I swear to God, Victoria, I’ll put a bullet in your precious grandchild.”

She pointed the gun at my stomach.

My hand instinctively went to my belly, feeling the hard, tight curve where my baby lay.

A sharp, dull ache pulsed through my lower back, but I forced myself to stand straight.

Victoria didn’t even look at me.

She kept her cold blue eyes fixed on Chloe.

“You won’t shoot,” Victoria said softly.

“You don’t have the courage for it.”

“You used us,” Chloe sobbed, tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on her face. “You told Julian he would have everything. You said the Callahan name was his.”