I saw Aida and her husband Callum Griffin the night of the date auction. They shared a table with Seb. I was distracted looking at Sebastian, but even so, Aida had a kind of galvanic energy that pulled the eye in her direction. I can feel it now in this room—like the charge left in the air after a lightning storm.

I thought when she and I met at last, it would be as friends. Maybe even as sisters.

Instead she’ll hate me, like all the Gallos must. She’s an orphan because of me.

I open her closet. Most of her clothes have been cleared out, but a few t-shirts still dangle from crooked hangers, and a pair of filthy old sneakers are jumbled in the corner. Oddly, one sneaker is much dirtier than the other.

I put on an old Van Halen t-shirt, torn on the shoulder, and the battered Converse. They’re too small—Aida isn’t a giant like me. But they’re better than nothing. My pajama pants will have to suffice, because she didn’t leave any shorts.

With that sorted, I poke my head out the door and listen for Greta. She’s still on the top floor, humming “You Can’t Hurry Love” while she cleans. I hurry back down the stairs, trying not to step in the center where they creak the most.

I’m about to head for the front door when I remember that the Gallos have an entire garage full of cars below their house. Sebastian didn’t include that on the tour, but he told me all about his brother Nero’s fascination with all things mechanical. In fact, that’s probably why my cell always smelled slightly of gasoline—it must have been directly underneath the garage.

Heading back down the stairs gives me a shiver of dread. It wasn’t exactly pleasant being locked up down there. Well . . . with a few exceptions.

I take one wrong turn that leads me to some kind of vault, and then I retrace my steps and find the garage.

It’s well-lit and scrupulously clean, with every tool neatly lined up in its proper place. There’s a dozen separate berths, most of them containing a vintage car or motorcycle.

I don’t know how to drive stick, and I have no interest in trying to figure out a Mustang older than I am. So I’m relieved to see that there’s a perfectly normal BMW parked down here, too. I open the door, praying that the keys are in the ignition. I find them waiting for me in the cup holder instead.

I slip into the cushy leather seat, a woody citrus scent filling my nostrils. I freeze with my hands on the wheel, realizing that I’ve climbed into Enzo Gallo’s car. I remember that cologne. It brings back vividly the vision of a distinguished older man in a fine wool suit, with shocking streaks of white in his dark hair. I remember how his smile lifted up the corners of his mustache, while dropping his heavy eyebrows down over his eyes. He smiled when he bought me the grand piano for my new apartment. The apartment I should have been staying in right now, with Sebastian . . .

My hand shakes as I fit the keys into the ignition. I start the engine, the garage door opening automatically to let me ascend up to the street.

I’m not sure where to go.

Adrian could be anywhere right now—the same with Sebastian and my father.

The only thing I can think to do is head toward my father’s house.

I don’t consider it my house anymore. It never felt like home to begin with. When I left, I had no intention of ever returning.

Driving back toward that house is worse than descending the stairs toward the cell.

The peaceful, tree-lined street doesn’t look attractive to my eyes. It fills me with dread, like its manicured perfection is a sign of the corruption hiding at the end behind my father’s high stone walls.

I had planned to pull into one of my neighbor’s driveways so I could hide and wait. Instead, I have to snatch up a pair of sunglasses and shove them on my face, and pull down the sun visor, because I see Rodion’s Escalade driving straight toward me. I can’t stop my car or turn around, it’s too late—he’ll notice if I do anything besides keep driving along at a steady pace.

It’s torture drawing closer and closer. Our vehicles are going to pass with only a couple of feet between us. I can’t decide whether to look over at his car, or keep my eyes straight ahead.

It’s impossible not to look.

To my surprise, I see my brother Adrian driving, and Rodion sitting in the passenger seat. They’re punching something into the GPS, so they don’t glance over as our cars pass.

I pull into the next driveway, my heart hammering wildly against my sternum.

I know where my brother is now—but I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to talk to him with my father’s attack dog riding shotgun.

I take several deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. Then, when I think they’re far enough away that they won’t notice, I reverse out of the driveway and follow after them.

Tailing another car is nerve-wracking. If I get too close, they’re sure to notice. But if I lag behind, I’ll lose them at the next light, or when they turn a corner.

If Rodion were driving, he’d be sure to notice the BMW continually in his rear-view mirror. Luckily, my brother is less experienced, and less observant.

Why Adrian is driving is a question all of its own. Mystified, I can only follow along as they head toward Old Town.

Finally, the Escalade pulls up against the curb. I pull over as well, hiding my car behind a delivery van. I have to clamber across to the passenger seat so I can see what the fuck is happening.

Rodion gets out of the Escalade, a long, black, rectangular bag slung over his shoulder. He starts walking toward the alley between a fish n’ chips shop and an apartment building.

I feel a swift sweep of relief—with Rodion gone, I can drive up next to my brother and get him to pull over. If we can talk alone, I’m sure I can convince him to give up on whatever shambolic plan my father is trying to piece together in the aftermath of the wedding.

I’m sliding back across the seats, ready to start the car engine once more.

Until I glance across the street and I see something that freezes my blood in my veins.

We’re right across the street from Midtown Medical.

Nero Gallo is in that hospital, in a private room on the top floor. He’s laying in a bed recovering from six bullet wounds, basically helpless.

I’m sure that Sebastian has plenty of guards stationed around his brother.

But I’m equally certain that Rodion intends to finish what he started and kill Nero. Why else would he be here?

Adrian’s car is pulling away from the curb. If I’m going to follow my brother, I have to do it now. This is my chance to speak to him.

If I do that . . . I’ll be leaving Nero to Rodion’s mercy. And Rodion doesn’t have any fucking mercy.

Before I’ve even fully decided, I’m shoving open the passenger side door and jumping out of the car. I hurry down the alley, following in the direction that Rodion disappeared.

For a moment I’m confused—I can’t see which way he went. It’s a long alleyway. He shouldn’t have disappeared so quickly. Maybe he started running as soon as he was out of sight?

I’m about to sprint down the alley myself, thinking he already turned the corner, but then I hear a scuffling sound overhead. Looking up, I can just make out the dark, bulky shape of Rodion scaling the fire escape of the apartment building.

Fuck. He’s going up to the roof.

The fire escape is partially retracted. I have to jump as high as I can to grasp the ladder, then pull myself up. If I wasn’t so tall, I wouldn’t be able to reach it at all.