“We aren’t going to the state,” Dominic said. “We are going to the federal prosecutors.”

“The Eastern District?” Marco asked, turning from the window.

“No, the Southern District,” Dominic replied. “I have a contact in the United States Attorney’s Office who doesn’t answer to my mother or Whitmore.”

Dominic took the ledger from Dr. Hale’s trembling hands and wrapped it in his dry trench coat.

“Marco, get Dr. Hale to the safe house in Brooklyn,” Dominic ordered. “Take the back roads.”

“What about you and Elena?” Marco asked.

“We are going to Foley Square,” Dominic said. “We deliver this tonight.”

I looked at Dominic, seeing the fierce protection in his eyes, the same look he used to give me before his mother poisoned our life.

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

He nodded once, not arguing.

“Let’s go,” Dominic said.

We left the house through the back door, stepping out into the cold, pouring rain.

The air smelled of wet earth and exhaust as we ran to Dominic’s black SUV.

Dominic started the engine, and the wipers scraped loudly against the windshield.