They hunted a wounded stranger through the rain, never realizing he had crawled into my little diner with two babies strapped to his chest. By sunrise, I discovered the man I had risked everything to save wasn't an ordinary victim—he was the most feared crime boss in Boston, and protecting his children instantly made me his enemies' next target.

By 8:00 PM, the rain had returned, washing over the city in dark, relentless sheets.

We couldn't stay in the West End any longer. Mickey’s men would eventually realize that my story didn't hold up—especially once they checked the diner's security footage from the previous night and saw the gap in my timeline.

Viktor sat at my small kitchen table, using a clean linen napkin to clean a fresh cut on my hand from the shattered glass. His fingers were surprisingly gentle for a man whose hands had brought down empires.

"My inner circle isn't entirely compromised," Viktor said softly as he wrapped a strip of medical tape around my palm. "Only three people outside my family knew about the compound's secondary evacuation routes. One of them sold me out to Leo. The other two are still loyal."

"Who are they?" I asked.

"Father Thomas—an old priest at St. Patrick's in South Boston who used to run logistics for my father," Viktor explained. "And Elena, my head of security. She was wounded during the attack, but she managed to secure my private compound in the Berkshires."

"The Berkshires?" I blinked. "That's two hours west of the city."

"It's an estate built into the side of a mountain," Viktor said, his amber eyes glittering with cold calculation. "Reinforced steel walls, satellite jammer arrays, and enough ammunition to withstand a siege. If we can reach the Berkshires, Leo won't be able to touch us."

"And how do we get out of Boston when every crew in the city is watching the highways?" I asked.

Viktor pulled a small, silver key from around his neck and laid it on the table.

"My father built a secondary escape route under the old harbor meatpacking plant three blocks from here," Viktor said. "An underground service tunnel that leads directly to a private dock on the Mystic River. I have an armored boat docked there."

"An armored boat?" I echoed, dumbfounded.

"My family has been in the shipping business for sixty years, Maya," Viktor smiled faintly. "We don't just move cargo. We move silently."

He stood up, resting his hand against his bandaged side. The color had returned to his face, thanks to the heavy iron broth I had forced him to drink two hours ago, though he was still far from fully healed.

"We move at midnight," Viktor declared. "You need to pack whatever you can't live without. Because once we leave this apartment, you can never come back here."

I looked around my small apartment.

The faded floral sofa my mother had bought at a thrift store. The framed photograph of my graduation from high school hanging on the wall. The stack of unpaid medical bills sitting on the counter.

My old life was gone. The diner was a ghost.

"I don't have much to pack," I said quietly.

I went into my bedroom, pulled a worn leather duffel bag from under the bed, and packed three changes of clothes, my mother's silver rosary, and my nursing textbooks.

When I returned to the kitchen, Viktor was already strapping the twin infants into their tactical harness against his chest. He threw a heavy, waterproof dark cloak over his shoulders, hiding Alexander and Sofia completely beneath the heavy fabric.

He handed me the second black handgun from his coat.

"Do you know how to use one of these?" Viktor asked.

"My father took me shooting in Maine when I was twelve," I said, taking the heavy metal weapon. My hands didn't shake. "Safety off, aim for center mass, squeeze the trigger."

Viktor looked at me, a profound look of respect shining in his eyes.

"You're not a nursing student anymore, Maya," Viktor said softly.

"No," I replied, slipping the gun into my coat pocket. "I'm the person keeping your children alive."

We descended the back stairs silently, stepping out into the cold, rain-soaked alley behind the diner.

The air smelled of ozone, sea salt, and impending violence.

We took three steps toward the street when a high-beam light suddenly snapped on at the end of the alley, blinding us instantly.