The poor girl thought she had made the worst mistake of her life when two armed guards stopped her outside a mansion and ordered her to leave. But when the mafia boss opened the door, saw the name written on her food bag, and whispered, “Where did you get this?” every man around him suddenly went silent.

The following afternoon, clouds hung low and grey over the city, threatening heavy snow.

Despite her grandmother’s warnings, Renley refused to stay home. The community kitchen on 4th Street was short-staffed, and thirty elderly residents were depending on their evening meals.

The kitchen was housed in the basement of an old red-brick church. Inside, the air was warm, rich with the aroma of simmering beef stew, fresh bread, and disinfectant.

Miss Martha, a stout woman in her fifties with flour-dusted aprons and a heart of gold, was frantically packing silver thermoses into insulated delivery bags.

“Renley, sweetie!” Martha called out as the basement door clicked shut. “Thank goodness you’re here! Tommy called in sick with the flu, and I’ve got twelve extra stops on the west route!”

“I’m ready, Miss Martha,” Renley said, wrapping a thick wool scarf around her neck and pulling on her heavy gloves.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Martha asked, pausing to look at the young girl’s pale face. “You were so late yesterday. I was worried sick.”

“I’m fine,” Renley lied smoothly. “I just got lost in the snow up on the hill.”

She grabbed two large delivery backpacks, loaded them onto the rear basket of her bicycle, and pushed through the heavy wooden basement doors into the alleyway behind the church.

The alley was dark, flanked by tall brick walls and overflowing trash dumpsters.

Renley swung her leg over her bicycle frame—and froze.

Blocking the exit of the alley was a sleek black SUV with tinted windows. Its engine idled with a low, menacing rumble, exhaust fumes swirling in the freezing air.

The rear door opened.

Silas, the scarred guard from Dominic’s estate, stepped out. But he wasn’t alone. Beside him stood two men in dark leather jackets, their hands tucked inside their coats.

“Renley Hart,” Silas said, his deep voice bouncing off the damp brick walls. “Don't run. We just want to talk.”

Renley backed her bicycle up toward the kitchen entrance, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. “Mr. Vance said I was safe! He gave me his card!”

“Dominic isn’t here, kid,” Silas said coldly, taking a slow step forward. “And Victor Vance is the one signing our paychecks today.”

Renley’s breath caught in her throat. Victor. The arrogant nephew who wanted the land deeds.

“Victor wants to know what Walter gave you,” Silas said, closing the distance. “Walter’s apartment was cleared out by the police this morning, but the riverfront property deeds weren’t there. The landlord said a little girl in a delivery vest was the last person inside the apartment before he died.”

“I don’t have any deeds!” Renley shouted, her voice laced with panic. “I just delivered his soup!”

“You’re coming with us,” one of the leather-jacketed men grunted, reaching out a gloved hand to grab Renley’s jacket collar.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!”

A sudden, sharp yell echoed from the mouth of the alley!

Before the guard could react, a heavy iron crowbar swung through the air, striking him squarely across the shoulder! The man yelled in pain, stumbling back into the snow.

Standing at the entrance of the alley was Tommy—the sixteen-year-old kitchen volunteer who was supposed to be home sick—holding a rusted pipe, his face red with anger.

“RUN, RENLEY!” Tommy screamed!

Renley didn’t hesitate. She threw her bicycle to the ground, ducked under Silas’s reaching arm, and bolted toward the main street as fast as her legs could carry her!

“Get her!” Silas roared behind her.

Renley sprinted through the snow, her sneakers slipping on the icy pavement. Horns blared as she darted across four lanes of evening traffic, dodging yellow taxis and delivery trucks.

She reached into her coat pocket, her trembling fingers finding the cold, heavy silver business card Dominic had given her.

She pulled out her cheap prepaid flip phone, dialed the single gold-embossed number with shaking hands, and pressed it to her ear.

Ring... Ring...

“Dominic Vance,” a sharp voice answered on the second ring.

“Mr. Vance!” Renley sobbed, ducking into an alley behind a grocery store as the black SUV roared down the main street searching for her. “It’s Renley! Victor’s men... Silas... they tried to grab me at the kitchen!”

There was a sudden, violent pause on the line.

When Dominic spoke again, his voice was no longer that of a grieving brother. It was the voice of a crime boss declaring total war.

“Where are you right now, child?” Dominic commanded.