Everyone feared the paralyzed Mafia boss—until a three-year-old maid’s daughter offered him a broken cookie and promised to take care of him.

The walk down the covered stone colonnade toward the east gatehouse felt like walking the plank. The winter wind whipped snow flurries across the manicured lawns, freezing the moisture on my eyelashes. Inside my coat pocket, the small metal flash drive felt heavy, like a detonator.

I kept my head down, clutching a clipboard stacked with routine housekeeping inventories so I would look like I belonged there on official estate business.

The security annex was a low-slung, reinforced concrete building nestled among the pine trees near the perimeter fence. It housed the main servers, the monitors for the estate's perimeter cameras, and the armory.

According to Alessandro’s schedule, Marcus Vance was currently leading the shift-change briefing in the tactical room on the upper floor. That left a ten-minute window where the main ground-floor terminal room should be completely empty.

I pushed the heavy steel door open.

Clack.

The interior was dim, humming with the low-frequency drone of massive server racks and cooling fans. Rows of computer monitors cast a pale blue glow across the linoleum floor.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Step one: locate the master terminal.

I hurried past the primary surveillance desk toward the secondary diagnostic station tucked in the corner behind a server rack. The glowing blue screen displayed a blinking login cursor.

I pulled the flash drive from my coat pocket. My fingers were stiff with cold, clumsy.

Come on, work, I muttered under my breath.

I jammed the drive into the USB port beneath the monitor.

Immediately, a command-line interface popped up on the screen, scrolling green text at a dizzying speed:

[INITIATING SECURE DATA EXTRACTION...]

[BYPASSING LOCAL FIREWALL...]

[ACCESS GRANTED: USER MORETTI_E_OVERRIDE]

A progress bar appeared: 10%... 25%... 50%...

"What are you doing here?"

A voice barked from the doorway.

Ice water flooded my veins. I spun around.

Marcus Vance stood at the entrance of the server alcove. He was built like a tank, wearing tactical black cargo pants and a dark turtleneck, his hand resting instinctively near the holster on his hip. His eyes were hard, suspicious, and entirely devoid of warmth.

"I—I'm looking for Mr. Vance," I stammered, gripping the edge of the desk behind me so hard my knuckles turned white. "Mrs. Gable sent me down with the linen inventory for the annex quarters."

Marcus narrowed his eyes, taking a slow step toward me. His gaze dropped from my face down to the keyboard, then to the blinking green light of the flash drive protruding from the terminal port.

A dark, dangerous smile spread across his lips.

"Linen inventory," Marcus repeated, his voice dripping with venom. "In the middle of the server room. On a diagnostic terminal."