She walked over to a small counter and poured water from a glass pitcher into a plastic cup.

She handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said, my throat dry and raspy.

She nodded once, her expression completely unreadable.

“You must be Maya,” she said, studying my face.

“I am,” I replied, holding the cup tightly to keep my hands from shaking.

“You have your mother’s stubbornness, Adrian,” Isabella said, turning back to her son. “But you were foolish to bring them to the city center.”

“We had no choice,” Adrian said. “The safe house in Wisconsin was compromised yesterday.”

Isabella walked over to the wooden table and picked up a black tablet computer.

She tapped the screen, and a detailed map of the Chicago grid appeared.

Several red dots were flashing along the northern shoreline near the highway exits.

“Salvatore has closed the exits to the north,” she said, pointing to the screen.

“What about the south side?” Adrian asked, leaning over the table.

“He has men there too,” Isabella said. “But that is not your biggest problem.”