The pounding on my door started at six in the morning.
I jerked awake, my heart already racing. I'd barely slept after last night. Every sound had made me jump. Every shadow looked like danger.
"Isabella Morales! Open this door!" The huge man's voice from last night. "We're not asking anymore!"
I stumbled out of bed, still wearing yesterday's clothes. The bookshelf I'd pushed against the door shook with each hit.
"I said two weeks!" I shouted back.
"Change of plans. We're moving you today. Get dressed. You have five minutes."
Moving me? What did that mean?
"I'm not going anywhere with you!"
Something slammed against my door—hard. The wood cracked. They were breaking in.
I grabbed my phone. Still dead. I'd tried charging it all night, but nothing worked. It was like something had fried it completely.
Another slam. The door frame splintered.
I ran to my window. Three stories up. No fire escape. Even if I could climb down, that black car was still parked out front.
One more hit and my door burst open. The bookshelf crashed to the floor. Four men poured into my apartment—the same ones from last night, plus two others.
The huge man pointed at me. "Pack a bag. One bag. Clothes and personal items. Nothing else. You have three minutes."
"You can't just kidnap me! This is illegal!"
The lawyer-man stepped forward. "Your father stole from us. Our agreement stated clearly that all debts transfer to family. You signed nothing, true, but your father signed for his entire family. That includes you."
"I never agreed to anything!"
"Your father agreed for you. That's how it works in our world." He checked his expensive watch. "Two minutes now."
"What if I refuse? What if I scream and call the police?"
The huge man smiled that terrible smile again. "Then we burn your bookstore down. With you inside it. Your choice."
My blood turned to ice. These weren't people who made empty threats.
"Where are you taking me?"
"You'll find out when we get there. Pack. Now."
My mind raced. If I went with them, they could take me anywhere. Do anything. But if I refused, they'd hurt me anyway.
At least if I went with them, I'd be alive. I could look for a chance to escape.
I grabbed my backpack and started throwing in clothes. Jeans. Sweaters. My toothbrush. Mom's journal—I slipped that in when they weren't looking.
"Phone," the lawyer-man said, holding out his hand.
"It's broken."
He took it anyway, examined it, then dropped it in his pocket. "No phone. No computer. No contact with the outside world."
"For how long?"
"Until your father's debt is paid."
"But I don't have two million dollars!"
"No," he agreed. "But you can work it off."
Work it off? How long would it take to work off two million dollars? Years? My whole life?
"Please," I said, my voice breaking. "I didn't do anything wrong. My father left me ten years ago. I don't even know where he is."
For just a second, the lawyer-man's expression softened. "I believe you. But that doesn't change the situation. The debt exists. It must be paid. If we let you go, others will think we're weak. We can't allow that."
"So I'm just supposed to be your slave?"
"Think of it as employment with unusual terms."
"That's kidnapping!"
The huge man stepped closer. "Call it whatever you want. You're coming with us. Easy way or hard way. Choose."
I zipped up my backpack with shaking hands. "Easy way."
"Smart girl."
They led me down the stairs. My legs felt like jelly. This couldn't be happening. Yesterday I was worried about my broken window. Now I was being kidnapped by the same people who might have killed Mom.
Outside, the morning was gray and cold. Snow had piled up during the night. The black car waited by the curb, engine running.
The huge man opened the back door. "Get in."
I looked around desperately. The street was empty. No one to help me. No one to even see me being taken.
Then I saw him.
Across the street, partially hidden behind a parked truck, stood a man in a dark coat. He was watching us. Watching me.
Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it.
Our eyes met for just a second. He shook his head slightly—a warning.
Then the huge man pushed me into the car.
I landed hard on the leather seat. The lawyer-man slid in beside me. The huge man got in on my other side, trapping me between them.
The car pulled away from my bookstore. Away from my home. Away from everything I knew.
"Where are we going?" I asked quietly.
"The estate," the lawyer-man said. "It's about two hours from here. You'll be staying there while you work off the debt."
"Doing what?"
"Whatever Mr. Castellano needs."
Mr. Castellano. I'd heard that name before. Where?
Then I remembered. In Mom's journal. She'd written about someone named Castellano. The leader of the Diamond Hearts. The most dangerous man in the organization.
I was being taken to him.
My stomach twisted with fear. "What kind of work?"
"You'll find out." The lawyer-man handed me a bottle of water. "Drink. It's a long drive."
I didn't want to drink anything they gave me. It could be drugged. But my throat was so dry.
I took a small sip. Just enough to wet my mouth.
The car turned onto the highway, heading out of town. I watched my bookstore disappear in the side mirror. Watched my whole life shrink into the distance.
"Can I at least call someone? Tell them I'm okay?"
"No one needs to know where you are," the huge man said. "As far as the world's concerned, Isabella Morales just disappeared."
Tears burned my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. I wouldn't cry in front of these men.
Instead, I thought about Mom. About how brave she'd been, investigating these people even when it was dangerous. About how she'd never given up looking for the truth.
I thought about Dad. About his text last night: *I'm sorry.*
Sorry for what? For stealing? For running away? For getting me into this mess?
And I thought about the mysterious person who'd been texting me. The one who wanted to meet at the Miller factory at noon.
I wouldn't be there. They'd think I stood them up. They'd think I didn't care about finding out the truth about Mom.
Unless...
I felt the weight of Mom's journal in my backpack, pressed against my leg.
They'd taken my phone, but they hadn't searched my bag carefully. They didn't know I had the journal.
Maybe that would be important later. Maybe it would help me survive whatever was coming.
The lawyer-man's phone rang. He answered it quickly. "Yes, sir. We have her. Approximately ninety minutes out."
A pause while he listened.
Then: "Understood. We'll bring her straight to you."
He hung up and looked at me. His expression was unreadable.
"Change of plans," he said. "Mr. Castellano wants to meet you immediately upon arrival."
"Why?"
"He didn't say. But when Mr. Castellano wants something, we don't ask questions."
The huge man chuckled. "This should be interesting."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.
Neither of them answered.
We drove in silence for a while. The city disappeared behind us. Trees and snow-covered fields stretched out on both sides of the highway.
I was being taken further and further from home. From anyone who might help me.
Then the lawyer-man's phone buzzed. He read a text and his face went pale.
"Stop the car," he said to the driver.
"What? Why?"
"Stop the car NOW!"
The car screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the highway.
The lawyer-man turned to look at me, and for the first time, he looked scared.
"Who are you really?" he asked.
"What? You know who I am. Isabella Morales."
"Your mother's name. What was your mother's full name?"
"Elena Morales. Why?"
He showed me his phone. The text message read: *The girl is not just a debtor. Her mother was Elena Morales—the journalist. Castellano wants to know if the girl knows anything before you bring her in. If she does, do NOT bring her to the estate.*
My heart stopped.
The huge man grabbed my backpack and dumped everything out. Clothes scattered across the seat.
Mom's journal fell out, landing face-up.
They all stared at it.
Then they stared at me.
"You've been reading your mother's research," the lawyer-man said slowly. "You know about the Diamond Hearts."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
The huge man pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at my head.
"She knows too much," he said. "Castellano's orders were clear. If she knows about us, we don't bring her in."
"Wait!" I screamed. "I don't know anything! I just found the journal! I haven't even—"
The lawyer-man held up his hand, silencing me. He picked up the journal and flipped through it.
His face grew darker with each page.
"She's seen everything," he said quietly. "All the names. All the evidence her mother collected."
The huge man cocked his gun. "Then you know what we have to do."
"Please!" I begged. "I won't tell anyone! I'll work off the debt! I'll do whatever you want!"
The lawyer-man's phone rang again. He looked at the screen and his hand trembled as he answered.
"Yes, Mr. Castellano."
He listened for a long moment.
Then: "Are you certain, sir? She's seen... Yes, sir. I understand. We'll bring her immediately."
He hung up and looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Mr. Castellano wants to see you even more now," he said. "Apparently, you're much more valuable than we thought."
The huge man lowered his gun but didn't put it away.
"What does that mean?" I whispered.
The lawyer-man's smile was cold. "It means your father didn't just steal money from us, Isabella. He stole something much worse. And Mr. Castellano thinks you know where it is."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You will soon."
The car started moving again, faster this time.
And I realized with growing horror that whatever waited for me at the estate was much worse than I'd imagined.
My father hadn't just stolen money.
He'd stolen something from the most dangerous criminals in the state.
And they thought I could lead them to it.
The question was: what had he taken that was worth more than two million dollars?
And why did they think I knew anything about it?