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Summoning all my courage, I make my way to Lev’s office. Sure enough, I’ll be caught on camera, but this is worth it. It’s a pursuit for knowledge.

I’m relieved when I find the door unlocked. I worried I’d make it this far only to discover that either Lev or Zoya had locked the door.

Carefully, I open the door and slip inside. I close it behind me just as carefully. I walk into the office heading toward the desk, but then I notice the door leading to the balcony is ajar. My heart slows.

That’s strange. Why would the door be open at this hour?

The security here is Fort Knox tight, but maybe someone forgot to close the door.

I decide to check it out to be on the safe side.

I creep up to the door and peer through it. My blood stills, and I nearly yelp when my gaze lands on a shirtless Lev stretched out on the outdoor lounger.

Shit, he’s home, and here. And I’m here.

But he’s asleep.

Why is he sleeping out here?

Was he here last night, too?

A mixture of moonlight and the soft amber glow from the overhead light washes over his sculpted body, taking the edge off his predatory look. The barely-there rise and fall of his tattooed chest suggests he’s in a deep sleep.

I should head back upstairs and thank my lucky stars I haven’t been caught by the one person I fear most. I almost spin around and bolt, but then I see something that catches my attention, and I can’t look away.

A gun.

His gun.

It’s on the table next to him. Right next to a bottle of scotch and a half-empty glass.

My captor, one of the most dangerous men in New York, is fast asleep, a most vulnerable state. And there’s a gun right next to him.

If someone—like me—killed him, all of this would be over. I could get away. I could go home. I could protect my mother.

Is this the universe’s way of helping me out?

Maybe.

But could I do it?

Gabrielle killed two men when we were trying to escape. She shot them both right in the head. Didn’t even hesitate.

People used to call me the daring twin, but it was she who went down fighting.

The thought reminds me of her sacrifice, and I realize this is another chance to try.

Try to live.

So, I move.

I tiptoe over to the table, reach out a shaking hand, and pick up the gun. It’s cold in my hand. Deathly cold.

I look at it, taking in the steel and the trigger. This is the first time I’ve ever held a gun. I don’t even know how to use it. But it can’t be that hard.

All I need to do is point at my target and pull the trigger.

I drag in a deep breath. The air burns my lungs like acid. My fingers tighten around the grip, my breathing becoming more ragged.