Thirty-five thousand feet in the air on a private jet, the desperate, fading cries of a starving infant cut through the cabin so sharply every maternal instinct I’d spent three months trying to bury since losing my own twins screamed to life; at the very front sat Dominic Walker, the infamous crime boss and billionaire everyone in America feared, trembling and helpless as he tried again and again to feed his daughter a bottle she refused to take.

The hum of the jet’s engines shifted, dropping in pitch.

I pressed my forehead to the window, my breath fogging the glass.

Below, the clouds stretched endless and white, but I knew what they hid.

Chicago was supposed to be 45 minutes away.

The flight map on the screen in front of me had vanished.

Replaced by a blank black screen.

I spun around, my shoes slapping the leather floor.

"You diverted the plane," I said, my voice cracking.

Dominic sat in the front row, Mia curled against his chest.

He stroked her thin dark hair, his face unreadable.

"We couldn't land in Chicago," he said.

"Like hell we couldn't." I lunged for my bag on the seat, grabbing my phone.

No signal.

Zero bars.

Dead.

I threw it against the seat. It bounced off, clattering to the floor.

"Give me my phone back. Fix the signal. I’m calling the police."

One of the bodyguards stepped forward, his hand hovering over the gun at his hip.

Dominic held up a hand.

He didn't look at me.

He looked at Mia.

"The nanny who was supposed to feed her on this flight?" he said. "Her name was Maria. She’d been with my wife since before Mia was born."

I froze.

"Three days ago, someone cut the brakes on my wife’s car. Lila died at the scene. Mia was in the back, in her car seat. She survived without a scratch."

My throat went dry.

"Maria was in the front passenger seat. She walked away without a bruise."

The air in the cabin felt thin.

"I didn't figure it out until we were 20 minutes into this flight. Mia wouldn't take the bottle. I thought she was grieving. I thought she missed her mom."

He finally looked up at me.

His eyes were black with rage.

"Then I checked the bottle myself. The formula was watered down. With something that made her too weak to cry loud enough for help. If you hadn't stepped in? She would have been dead before we landed."

I stumbled back, falling into the seat across from him.

"Maria worked for them," he said. "The Moretti family. They’ve been at war with my family for 20 years. They killed Lila. They tried to kill Mia. And now? They know who you are."

I shook my head.

"No. I’m nobody. I’m just a woman on a plane."

"You’re the woman who ruined their plan." Dominic leaned forward, his voice low and sharp. "They pulled the flight manifest before we even hit cruising altitude. They have your name. Your address. Your entire life, Emily. By the time we were supposed to land in Chicago, there were three men waiting outside your apartment building. With guns."

The world tilted.

My husband.

My boys.

The empty nursery.

That apartment was the only thing I had left of them.

"You’re lying," I whispered.

Dominic nodded at the bodyguard by the door.

The man pulled a tablet from his jacket, tapped a few times, and handed it to me.

It was a live security feed.

From the front door of my building.

Two men in dark hoodies stood across the street, staring up at my third-floor window.

One of them held a phone to his ear.

The other kept his hand in his pocket.

I knew the shape of that hand.

I’d seen it enough times in the news.

Hiding a gun.

A third man walked out of the alley behind my building, looked both ways, and slipped through the front door.

My blood turned to ice.

"They’re inside," I breathed.

"Your neighbor, Mrs. Henderson? She tried to stop them from going up the stairs." Dominic’s voice was softer now. "She’s in the hospital. Broken ribs. Concussion. She’ll live. But if you had gotten off that plane in Chicago? You’d be dead before you made it to the elevator."

I dropped the tablet.

It hit the floor with a dull thud.

Mia stirred in Dominic’s arms, making a small, sleepy sound.

He held her tighter.

"I’m not a monster, Emily. I don’t want to drag you into this. But I don’t have a choice. They know you. They’ll hunt you. Everywhere you go. Every person you love. They won’t stop until you’re dead—and until Mia is dead right along with you."

The jet hit a patch of turbulence.

I grabbed the armrests, my knuckles white.

Outside, the sun was starting to set, painting the clouds pink and orange.

It was beautiful.

And I was trapped in a metal tube with a mafia boss, a baby, and three men with guns, flying away from the only life I’d ever known.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice hollow.

"Montana." Dominic looked out the window. "I have a compound there. No neighbors. No roads. Enough security to hold off a small army. You’ll be safe there. Mia will be safe there."

"And then what?" I said. "I hide in the mountains forever? While you fight your war?"

He didn't answer.

He just looked at Mia.

And I knew.

There was no "then what."

There was only now.

Survive.

Or die.

The jet began its descent 20 minutes later.

We landed at a tiny private airfield, surrounded by nothing but pine trees and mountains.

No terminal.

No crowds.