The freezing water from the sprinklers beat down relentlessly, soaking my clothes and stinging my eyes. The grand foyer of the Moretti estate had turned into a chaotic, flooded nightmare.

"Where is she?!" Luca roared, pressing his forearm against Patricia’s throat, pinning her to the flooded marble.

Patricia was laughing—a choked, gargling sound through the water pouring over her face. "You're too late! Even if you kill me, you can't find her. There are sixty rooms in this house, Luca! Which one is she in?"

I dropped to my hands and knees, ignoring the icy water soaking through my jeans. I scrambled toward Sophie's yellow backpack, tearing at the zipper. The fabric was drenched, and my numb fingers fumbled wildly.

I pulled out her school folders, a crushed juice box, and finally, her tablet.

I wiped the screen desperately with the inside of my ruined coat. Sophie and I shared an account. I had set up a location tracker months ago because I was terrified she might wander off and not hear cars coming.

"Please have battery," I prayed aloud, sobbing as I mashed the power button. "Please, please, please."

The screen flickered to life. The apple logo appeared, bright and mocking in its slowness.

Luca hauled Patricia to her feet, his gun pressed hard beneath her chin. He looked back at me, the ruthless mob boss completely stripped away, leaving only a desperate man. "Claire. Do you have her?"

"It's loading," I cried, my hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the device.

The tracker app opened. A map of the estate popped up on the screen, a small blue dot blinking against the dark background.

I squinted through the water dripping from my eyelashes. The blue dot wasn't inside the mansion. It wasn't in any of the sixty bedrooms.

It was outside.

It was moving away from the main house, down toward the edge of Lake Michigan.

"She's not in the house!" I screamed, showing the screen to Luca. "She's at the lake!"

Patricia’s crazed laughter abruptly stopped. Her eyes widened in genuine panic. "No," she whispered. "That's impossible. She can't be down there."

Luca’s expression darkened. He realized it before I did. "The old boathouse. The one we condemned because the foundation is sinking." He pressed the gun harder into Patricia's neck. "You locked a child in a sinking building during a storm?"

"I didn't!" Patricia shrieked, struggling. "I told my men to put her in the garden shed! If she's in the boathouse, they put her there to drown so there would be no witnesses!"

I didn't wait to hear another word.

I shoved the tablet into my pocket and bolted for the open front doors. I didn't care about the armed men outside. I didn't care about the crossfire.

"Claire, wait!" Luca yelled. He shoved Patricia into the arms of his advancing guards. "Lock her in the vault. If the girl dies, Patricia dies."

Luca ran after me, his long legs eating up the distance as we plunged into the storm raging outside.

The wind off Lake Michigan was brutal, whipping rain into our faces like shattered glass. The sprawling lawns of the estate were slick with mud. I slipped, falling hard onto my knees, but I scrambled back up instantly, propelled by a primal, terrifying adrenaline.

I'm coming, Sophie. Mommy's coming.

We reached the stone path leading down to the lake. The water was violently choppy, dark waves crashing against the wooden pylons of the old, rotting boathouse at the edge of the property.

The building was already sitting at a severe angle, the front half submerged in the rising tide.

And chained around the heavy wooden doors was a massive steel padlock.

I slammed my body against the doors, screaming her name, forgetting completely that she couldn't hear me. "Sophie! Sophie!"

I peered through a cracked, grimy window pane on the side of the door.

Inside, the boathouse was a nightmare. The floor was completely flooded, dark lake water swirling nearly three feet high. Old wooden crates and rusted tools bobbed in the freezing water.

And there, standing atop a sturdy wooden workbench in the back corner, was my daughter.

Sophie was clutching a broken silver rosary in her tiny hands—the same one Eleanor had given me, which I must have dropped when I ran. She was shivering violently, her eyes wide with sheer terror as the water slowly crept up the legs of the workbench.

"Sophie!" I slammed my fists against the glass.

She couldn't hear the glass rattling. She couldn't hear my screams. She just stood there, staring at the rising water, completely trapped in her silent world.

Luca arrived beside me, breathless. He took one look through the window, saw the water level, and let out a vicious curse.

He raised his gun and fired twice directly into the heavy steel padlock. Sparks flew, the loud cracks deafening in the storm. But the lock was solid iron. It didn't break.

"Stand back!" Luca ordered.

He didn't look for an axe. He didn't waste time. He backed up, took a running start, and threw his entire body weight against the rotting wooden doors.

The wood groaned, splintering around the hinges.

Luca backed up and did it again. His shoulder slammed into the wood with a sickening crunch. Blood began to seep through the fabric of his jacket, but he didn't stop. He was a machine fueled by pure, desperate will.

On the third strike, the wood around the hinges shattered. The doors burst inward, and a rush of freezing lake water poured out around our ankles.

I didn't wait for Luca to clear the path. I waded directly into the freezing, waist-deep water of the boathouse, tearing through floating debris.

"Sophie!" I reached the workbench and practically tore her from the wood, burying her small, shivering body against my chest. She wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face in my soaked hair, and finally began to sob.

"I've got you," I cried, kissing her cold cheeks, signing the words frantically against her back so she could feel them. Safe. Mommy is here. Safe.

Luca waded through the water behind us. He reached out, his large, warm hand covering the back of Sophie’s head, shielding her from the wind. He was panting, his shoulder bleeding, but his eyes were entirely focused on my daughter.

Then, Luca looked past us.

He stared at the wall behind the workbench.

When the doors had burst open, the rushing water had knocked away a section of rotting wood paneling.

Behind the paneling wasn't dirt. It was solid, gleaming steel.

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