The text message hit Norah hard.
Midnight. That's not forty-eight hours. That's fifteen hours.
And if she doesn't show up, they'll take Dante.
Marco opens her door. "You coming?"
Norah looks at him. At this man she met ten minutes ago, who claims to be helping her.
She glances at the phone screen one more time.
At the two words that jump out at her:
"HANDOVER CONFIRMED."
The same two words she glimpsed on the other Marco's phone in Dante's apartment.
Which means either Marco—this Marco, the one in front of her—is lying about helping her.
Or Dante's cousin wasn't just observing.
He was planning.
"Norah?" Marco's voice has an edge now. "We need to move."
She looks up at him. At his friendly smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Who's M?" she asks quietly.
"What?"
She holds up the phone. Shows him the text.
Marco's expression shifts. The friendliness drains away, replaced by something harder. Colder.
"Where did you get that text?"
"It just came through. On your phone."
"That's not—" He stops. His jaw clenches. "Shit."
"Who is M?"
"My cousin. The other Marco. The one pretending to be me." He grabs the phone from her hand. "He must have copied my number. He's trying to—"
"Or you're lying." Norah's voice is surprisingly steady. "And you're not really Dante's brother. You're just another Calabria goon sent to make sure I don't run."
Marco stares at her. Then he starts laughing.
It's not a friendly sound.
"You're smart," he says. "Smarter than the others. No wonder Dante's having such a hard time with you."
"So you are lying."
"No." Marco's smile returns, but it's different now. Sharper. "I really am Dante's brother. I really am supposed to be dead. And I really am trying to help you."
"Then who sent that text?"
"Someone who wants Dante to think I'm still working for the family. Someone who's trying to trap us both." He leans against the SUV. "Here's the truth, Norah. All of it. No more games."
"I'm listening."
"Seven years ago, I fucked up. Got in debt to the Volkovs—Russian mob, very bad people. Dante made a deal with the Calabrias to clear my debt. In exchange, he'd work for them. Do jobs. Including collecting women who owed blood debts."
"I know this part."
"You know the version Dante told you. Here's what he didn't say: the Calabrias didn't just want him to collect women. They wanted him to fall for them. Get attached. Make it hurt when he had to hand them over."
Norah's stomach turns. "Why?"
"Because Dante tried to save Michaela. The first woman they sent him after. He hid her, tried to negotiate, did everything he could to keep her alive. And when the Calabrias found out, they didn't just kill Michaela. They made him watch. Made sure he understood that caring about these women only made their deaths worse."
"So the whole thing—him helping me—it's a setup?"
"No." Marco shakes his head. "That's what they intended. But Dante's been planning his exit for two years. Saving money, creating fake identities, building a network of people who owe him favors. He was going to disappear. Leave the family, leave me, leave everything."
"Then why didn't he?"
"Because then you happened." Marco's expression softens slightly. "And he saw a chance to finally save someone. To make up for all the ones he couldn't save. So he's risking everything—his life, his freedom, his carefully laid plans—to give you a chance."
"And you're helping him."
"I'm helping you." Marco's voice is firm. "Dante saved me once. Cost him seven years of servitude to do it. The least I can do is help save the woman he's decided is worth burning his whole world down for."
Norah wants to believe him.
But she's believed too many people already today.
"Prove it," she says.
"How?"
"Call Dante. Right now. Let me talk to him."
Marco pulls out a different phone—not the one with the text, a second phone. He dials, puts it on speaker.
Dante answers immediately. "Marco?"
"She wants proof I'm really helping," Marco says.
"Norah?" Dante's voice is tight. "Are you okay?"
"Am I supposed to trust your brother?" she asks. "Give me one reason why I should."
Dante's quiet for a moment.
Then: "Because he's the only person in the world I'd die for. And if I trust him with my life, you can trust him with yours."
It's not enough. It should be, but it's not.
"Tell me something only the real you would know," Norah says. "Something we talked about. Something private."
"On the plane," Dante says immediately. "During the turbulence. You told me about your sister. Emma. How she died of leukemia when she was fourteen. How she wanted to be a veterinarian. How she loved horses even though she'd never ridden one."
Norah's throat tightens. "Anyone could have heard that conversation. The plane wasn't exactly private."
"You said she was good. Really, genuinely good. And that she died anyway, and you've spent the last twelve years trying to understand why good people suffer while bad people prosper." Dante's voice is soft now. "You said sorry doesn't bring people back. And I said no, it doesn't. Because I've said sorry to seven ghosts and it's never once made them less dead."
Norah closes her eyes.
That conversation happened. Every word of it.
"Okay," she whispers. "I believe you."
"Thank you." Dante exhales. "Marco's going to keep you safe. I'm going to buy you time. And we're going to figure this out."
"How? The timeline moved up. They want me tonight."
"I know. Which is why I'm about to do something very stupid."
"Dante—"
"Trust Marco. Please."
The line goes dead.
Norah looks at Marco. "What's he going to do?"
"Something that'll probably get him killed." Marco's expression is grim. "But it'll buy you time. Maybe a day. Maybe less."
"We need to stop him."
"We can't. He's already in motion." Marco gestures toward the church. "Come on. We need to figure out where your father hid that USB drive. Because it's the only leverage we have left."
Norah follows him toward the abandoned church.
Behind them, somewhere in the French Quarter, Dante is putting himself between Norah and the people who want her dead.
She should feel guilty.
She does feel guilty.
But underneath the guilt is something else.
Hope.
Because for the first time since Enzo Ricci whispered her name, Norah has allies.
Maybe that's enough.
Maybe.
Inside the church, Marco leads her to a back office. There's a laptop set up on a desk, along with papers and photographs spread everywhere.
"I've been researching your father for three days," he says. "Ever since Dante called me. And I think I know where he hid the USB drive."
"Where?"
"Your sister's grave."
Norah's blood goes cold. "What?"
"Think about it. Your father died three years ago. Emma died twelve years ago. He would've had access to her grave. Could've hidden something there without anyone noticing." Marco pulls up a photo on the laptop. It shows a cemetery. "This is where she's buried, right? Sacred Heart Cemetery in Baltimore?"
"Yes, but—" Norah can barely breathe. "You think he hid evidence in my sister's grave?"
"Not in it. On it. The headstone, maybe. Or buried nearby. Somewhere only someone who visits regularly would think to look."
"I visit every year on her birthday."
"Exactly. He was counting on you finding it eventually. When you needed it."
Norah sinks into a chair. "So we need to go to Baltimore. Break into a cemetery. Dig up my sister's grave."
"Not dig up. Just check around it. But yeah, basically."
"That's insane."
"Got a better idea?"
She doesn't.
"How do we get to Baltimore?" she asks. "It's an eighteen-hour drive. We don't have time."
"We fly." Marco's already typing on his laptop. "I've got a contact with a plane. We can be there in three hours."
"And then?"
"Then we find the drive, figure out what's on it, and use it to negotiate your freedom."
"The Calabrias won't negotiate."
"They will if the alternative is every cop and fed in five states knowing what they've done."
It's not a great plan.
But it's the only plan they have.
"Okay," Norah says. "Let's do it."
Marco grins. "That's what I like to hear."
His phone buzzes. The one with the threatening text.
He glances at it. His expression changes.
"What?" Norah asks. "What is it?"
Marco turns the phone toward her.
A photo. Dante, kneeling on a dock, hands zip-tied behind his back. Blood on his face. Three men with guns standing behind him.
And a text below the image:
"YOUR BROTHER TRIED TO BE A HERO. NOW HE GETS TO BE AN EXAMPLE. BRING THE GIRL TO PIER 14 BY MIDNIGHT OR WE PUT A BULLET IN HIS HEAD. COME ALONE. - M."
Norah stares at the photo.
At Dante's bloodied face. His eyes closed. His body sagging like he's already given up.
"We have to help him," she whispers.
"That's what they want. They're using him as bait."
"I don't care. We can't just let them kill him."
"If we go, they'll take you both. And then everyone dies."
"Then what do we do?"
Marco's jaw clenches. He's silent for a long moment.
Then: "We do both. We go to Baltimore, get the drive, and use it to trade for Dante's life."
"That won't work. You said they'll just kill us anyway."
"Not if we make the evidence public first. Send it to every news outlet, every law enforcement agency, everywhere. Make ourselves too visible to kill quietly."
"That's insane."
"You got a better plan?"
For the second time in five minutes, Norah doesn't.
"Fine," she says. "But we need to move fast. If they're threatening to kill him at midnight—"
"We have fifteen hours," Marco says. "Three hours to Baltimore. Two hours to find the drive. Two hours to disseminate it. That leaves eight hours to get back here and negotiate."
"That's cutting it close."
"Story of my life." Marco's already moving, gathering papers, closing the laptop. "You ready for this?"
Norah thinks about Dante. About the blood on his face in that photo. About the way he held her hand during turbulence, the way he promised to save her even if it cost everything.
About how she's the reason he's kneeling on that dock with a gun to his head.
"Yeah," she says. "I'm ready."
They head for the door.
Behind them, on Marco's phone, a new text comes through.
Norah catches a glimpse of it before Marco can turn the screen away.
Two words that make her blood run cold:
"HANDOVER CONFIRMED."