My hands were still cold, but I held the plastic folder tightly against my chest.

We stopped in a dark alley behind a gray stone building, far from the main entrance where reporters usually gathered.

Vincent led me up a flight of metal fire stairs, his footsteps completely silent in the night.

We entered through a side door that had been left unlocked, stepping into a dimly lit, carpeted hallway.

A man in a sharp grey suit stood waiting for us near the elevators.

He had tired eyes and a leather briefcase tucked under his arm.

“Vincent,” the man said, his voice cautious as he looked around the empty hallway. “You are taking a massive risk bringing her here.”

“This is Assistant U.S. Attorney Miller,” Vincent said to me, ignoring the man’s concern. “He is the only man in this city who hates Corrado more than I do.”

Miller looked at me, his gaze softening slightly when he saw the dirt on my clothes and my pale face.

“Is this the wife?” Miller asked.

“My name is Lena,” I said, stepping forward.