Dominic looked at me, his eyes widening slightly.

“Whitmore is on her payroll,” Dominic said.

It was not a question.

It was a realization that seemed to settle in his chest like lead.

“He has been for ten years,” I said.

“How do you think she took the Valenti shipping assets from your uncle?”

Dominic stared down at his hands.

He had spent five years believing I had simply run away with his money.

Now, the architecture of his mother’s lies was collapsing around him.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter what you knew,” I said.

“My daughter is at that bookstore.”

I gripped the door handle.

“If they touch her, Dominic, I swear to God—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted.

His voice was suddenly firm.

He looked up at Marco.

“How far to the shop?”

“Three blocks,” Marco said.

“But the street is blocked.”

I leaned forward between the front seats.

Through the rain-streaked windshield, I could see the blue and red lights flashing.

Two police cruisers were parked at angles across the intersection of Prince Street.