His dark wool coat was dark with rain, and his boots squeaked on the floor.

“Sir,” Marco said, looking around the empty aisles. “We need to move.”

“What is it?” Dominic asked, standing up.

“The news of the trust transfer just hit the Bloomberg terminal,” Marco said. “The Valenti Holdings stock is already down four percent in after-hours trading.”

He looked at me, then at Lucia.

“Caterina’s people are going to try to locate you to serve a counter-petition,” Marco added. “And the press will be here in twenty minutes.”

I stood up, holding Lucia against my hip.

She was getting heavy, but I couldn’t let her go.

“Where do we go?” I asked, looking between the two men. “My apartment isn’t safe.”

“No,” Dominic said. “She knows where your apartment is.”

He looked at the rows of old books, then at the small window facing the street.

“We go to my place,” he said. “The penthouse on East 72nd.”

“Your mother has keys to that building, Dominic,” I said, my voice rising.

“Not anymore,” Dominic said. “I changed the security codes this morning.”