A dying daughter asked if her twin brother could join her in death, right before a stranger exposed why their cancer treatment was failing.

Three minutes later, the double doors clicked open again.

Two towering, armed mansion guards escorted a woman into the grand office. Rain dripped steadily off her clothes, pooling onto the dark polished hardwood floor around her worn leather shoes.

It was Elena Ward.

At around thirty, Elena looked thin, exhausted, and visibly battered by the storm outside. Her brown hair was soaked, clinging loosely to her neck and cheeks in dark strands. She wore a faded, dark wool coat that was drenched through, a simple sweater, and dark trousers. She was visibly shivering, her pale hands trembling as she held her arms tightly across her chest. She looked small, vulnerable, and completely out of place inside the fortress of Chicago’s most dangerous man.

Yet, despite her fear, despite the six armed guards positioned around the perimeter of the room, her brown eyes held a sharp, stubborn determination that refused to break.

Lawson stood behind his mahogany desk, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes tracking her like a predator evaluating an intruder.

"How do you know about my children?" Lawson demanded, his tone offering zero negotiation. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my men toss you into the river for bringing their names into my mouth."

Elena swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the rain drenching her skin. She looked around at the intimidating guards, then looked directly into Lawson’s dark, unblinking eyes.

"I didn't come here to threaten you, Mr. Mercer," Elena said, her voice shaking slightly from the cold, but remaining clear. "I came because Jonah and Blythe don't have ten days left if you keep doing what you're doing."

Prescott’s hand moved instantly to his holster. "Watch your tongue, woman."

"Hold," Lawson commanded, raising a single hand.

He walked around the edge of his desk, his heavy steps silent against the Persian rug, coming to a stop four feet in front of Elena. The height difference was staggering; he loomed over her like a shadow.

"Explain," Lawson growled. "Now."

Elena hesitated, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she reached inside the damp collar of her sweater. She pulled out a thin, delicate silver chain.

Hanging from the chain was a tiny, uniquely cut lapis lazuli pendant—a deep blue stone framed by intricate, hand-engraved silver vines.

The moment the bronze desk lamp light hit the tiny blue stone, Lawson Mercer went completely, utterly motionless.

The color drained from his face. His dark eyes widened, locking onto the silver necklace with a look of profound, terrifying disbelief.

"Where did you get that?" Lawson whispered, his voice stripped of its former rage, replaced by a hollow, breathless shock.