"On Christmas Eve, Mafia boss Dominic Moretti found his maid’s three-year-old daughter sitting alone beneath the grand staircase, clutching a photograph and whispering, “I’m waiting for my mom.”

While the standoff in Brooklyn was happening, terror struck in Maine.

Sophia woke up to the sound of breaking glass downstairs. She bolted upright in bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The safehouse was supposed to be impenetrable, but she heard heavy footsteps rushing up the hardwood stairs.

She sprinted into the connecting room and scooped Lily out of bed, covering the child’s mouth with her hand.

“Shh, baby, not a sound,” Sophia whispered in the dark.

She dragged Lily into the en-suite bathroom, locking the heavy oak door and shoving a marble vanity stool under the handle. She backed into the shower stall, pulling the little girl tightly against her chest.

The bedroom door kicked open.

“Find them!” a woman’s voice shrieked.

Sophia’s blood ran cold. It wasn't a mafia hitman. It was Isabella Vitale. The scorned fiancée had used her family’s trackers to locate Enzo’s helicopter flight path.

“You think you can steal my life, you trash?” Isabella yelled, her voice echoing in the bedroom. “I was going to be the Queen of New York!”

Footsteps approached the bathroom door. Someone jiggled the handle, then slammed a heavy boot against the wood. The oak splintered.

Sophia looked around frantically for a weapon. She grabbed a heavy pair of iron curling tongs from the counter. She wasn't the scared, pregnant girl who had run away four years ago. She was a mother cornered in a cage.

The door crashed open. Isabella stood there, a silver revolver in her trembling hand.