It was Dante’s handwriting.

He had known who I was before he ever offered me the job at the club.

He had been tracking James, and he had found me because of it.

I turned the page, my eyes scanning the text so fast the words blurred together.

There was a printed map of my neighborhood, with red circles around my apartment building and Lily’s daycare.

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

They were not just tracking James; Moretti’s men were actively looking for anyone connected to him to use as leverage.

I heard a faint, distinct click from the hallway outside.

The heavy brass doorknob of the office began to turn.

The door opened slowly.

Dante stood in the doorway, his tall frame cutting off the light from the hallway.

His dark wool coat was damp from the Chicago rain, smelling of cold air and wet pavement.

He stopped when he saw the folder in my hands.

His dark eyes dropped to the open page, then rose to meet mine.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Sophia,” he said.