Five years after I buri:ed my husband, I visited a colleague and stepped into a bright nursery—only to see Daniel Mercer standing there alive. The man I had mourned was holding a baby bottle, while my mother-in-law fussed over another woman and her newborn like this was a normal family scene. Daniel looked at me, turned white, and dropped the bottle onto the floor. That was when I understood the coffin had been empty. Before nightfall, the lie that protected his entire family would destroy them all.

My heart sank as I stared at the silver flash drive dangling from the fingers of the cartel boss.

"Did you really think my people would not search you while you were unconscious?" Marcus mocked.

He tossed the drive to Celeste.

"Destroy it."

Celeste placed the drive on the concrete floor and crushed it beneath the heel of her designer shoe.

"Now," Marcus said, turning back to Daniel.

"Where were we?"

I frantically assessed the room.

The binds on my wrists were tight, but the chair had a loose back leg.

I rocked my weight violently to the right.

The metal chair tipped and crashed to the concrete floor.

The wood splintered, and the impact loosened the zip ties around my left hand.

"Get her up," Marcus barked at two armed guards standing in the shadows.

As the guards stepped forward to grab me, a massive explosion shook the warehouse walls.

The heavy steel doors blew inward, sending smoke and shrapnel flying across the room.

Marcus stumbled backward, raising his weapon.

Through the thick, gray smoke, tactical flashlights pierced the darkness.

"Federal agents, drop your weapons!" a voice boomed over a megaphone.

I pulled my left hand free and ripped the zip tie off my right wrist.

Gunfire erupted as the men working for Marcus engaged the agents.

I crawled across the floor, dodging stray bullets, and reached Daniel.

I found a shard of shrapnel and sawed through his bindings.

"We have to go!" I yelled over the deafening noise.

Daniel grabbed my hand, and we sprinted toward a side exit leading to the docks.

We burst through the doors into the cool night air.

Sirens wailed from every direction.

We ducked behind a stack of shipping crates just as Marcus burst through the exit door, bleeding from his shoulder.

He raised his gun, aiming wildly into the dark.

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

"You cannot run from me, Elena!" he roared.

Suddenly, two gunshots rang out, and Marcus dropped dead at our feet.

Chapter 9 - The Distraction