Lila pushed through the heavy iron gates of Woodlawn Cemetery. She stepped onto the curb and threw her hand up.

A yellow cab pulled over, its tires splashing dirty water against her boots. She collapsed the dripping umbrella and slid into the backseat.

"Lower Manhattan," she told the driver.

The cab smelled like stale coffee and old leather. The heater blasted against her frozen legs. Lila leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. She watched the raindrops streak across the pane. Her heart was still beating too fast.

Leo's eyes. The sheer weight of his stare. It felt like a physical pressure against her throat.

Thirty minutes later, the cab pulled to a stop in front of a rundown antique shop. A faded "Closed" sign hung in the dusty window.

Lila handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and stepped back out into the rain. She pushed the heavy wooden door of the shop open. A dull bell clanged above her head.

She walked past aisles of rotting Victorian furniture and tarnished mirrors. At the back of the shop, behind a massive oak bookshelf, was a solid steel door.

Lila punched a six-digit code into the keypad. The heavy deadbolts clicked open.

She stepped into the underground safehouse. The air here was warm, smelling of expensive cigars and old paper. The lighting was dim, casting long shadows across the velvet furniture.

Madame Rose sat on a dark green sofa. She held a crystal glass of bourbon in one hand and a thin cigar in the other. She blew a perfect ring of smoke toward the ceiling.

Rose looked at Lila's dripping coat and pale face. She frowned. She picked up a dry cashmere towel from the armrest and tossed it.

Lila caught the towel. She rubbed it roughly over her wet hair.

"I saw him," Lila said. Her voice was flat. "Leo Sterling."

Rose set her glass down on the mahogany table. The ice clinked sharply. "You are out of your mind. That funeral was crawling with federal agents and rival hitters."

Lila walked to the small bar in the corner. She poured herself a glass of ice water and drank it in one long swallow. The cold water shocked her system, slowing her racing pulse.

"He is worse than the file says, Rose," Lila said. She gripped the edge of the bar. "He doesn't care about anyone. He looked at his father like he wanted to put a bullet in his head."

Rose sighed. She reached under the table and pulled out a thick manila envelope. She threw it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud.

Lila walked over and opened it. A few grainy photos slid out, along with some redacted bank statements.

"My contact, N, did everything possible," Rose said. "Leo's movements are encrypted. He uses burner phones. He doesn't have a schedule. He is a monster with no visible weak points."

Lila picked up a blurry photo of Leo walking out of a nightclub. "No regular women?"

"None," Rose said. "Women are disposable to him. He never keeps them overnight. Do not think you can play a long game with his heart, Lila. He doesn't have one."

Lila let out a short, harsh laugh. She dropped the photo. "I don't need his heart. I just need him to become obsessed."

Rose stood up. She walked over and grabbed Lila's wrist. Her grip was tight. "Lila, listen to me. Once you cross this line, there is no coming back. He will destroy you."

Lila looked down at Rose's hand. The memory of her mother's blood pooling on the floor flashed behind her eyes. Her stomach cramped.

"I crossed the line the night my mother died," Lila said. Her voice was dead. She pulled her wrist free.

She walked to the far corner of the room. A rolling rack of clothes stood against the wall. High-end dresses, cheap uniforms, various costumes for various lies.

"I have to force his hand," Lila said. She ran her fingers over the fabrics. "If he is paranoid, I will become bait he cannot ignore."

Rose crossed her arms. "How? He doesn't take bait."

Lila stopped. Her fingers closed around a black silk shirt. The fabric was incredibly thin, almost weightless.

"His private movements are a mystery, yes," Lila said, her voice steady as she held up the dark garment. "But his public theater is not. Tomorrow is Sunday. He goes to St. Patrick's Cathedral for the morning mass. For the cameras and the press."

Rose nodded slowly. She looked at the thin shirt in Lila's hands. Her eyes widened slightly.

"It is going to storm tomorrow," Lila said. Her voice was soft, but her grip on the silk was white-knuckled. "I am going to give him something he wants to break."

The black sedan idled across the street from St. Patrick's Cathedral on Fifth Avenue.

Lila sat in the backseat. The heater was on full blast, but her hands were freezing. She unbuttoned her heavy coat and let it drop to the floorboards.

She wore only the black silk shirt and a pair of tight, faded jeans.

Outside, the New York sky had broken open. The rain was coming down in sheets, flooding the gutters. Pedestrians ran past the car, hiding under umbrellas and newspapers.

Lila pressed a finger to her ear. The wireless earpiece crackled.

"Leo's convoy is two minutes out," Rose's voice said in her ear.

Lila took a deep breath. Her chest expanded against the thin silk. She reached out and pushed the car door open.

She stepped out onto the sidewalk. The freezing rain hit her instantly. It felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing her skin. She gasped, her breath rushing out in a white cloud.

Within seconds, the silk shirt was completely soaked. The fabric clung to her skin like a second layer, turning translucent. The cold made her nipples harden painfully against the wet silk. Her dark hair plastered itself to her cheeks and collarbones.

She crossed the street, wrapping her arms around her torso. She forced herself to shiver violently. She stood near the stone pillars of the cathedral courtyard, looking exactly like a poor, stranded college student caught in a flash flood.

Three black Rolls Royce Phantoms cut through the rain. They pulled smoothly into the VIP drop-off lane right in front of the cathedral steps.

Bodyguards poured out of the first and third cars. They popped open massive black umbrellas, creating a dry tunnel leading up the marble stairs.

The door of the middle Phantom opened.

Leo stepped out. He wore a dark charcoal suit today. His face was a mask of absolute boredom.

Lila timed it perfectly.

She started running toward the cathedral portico, pretending she was just trying to find shelter. She clutched a cheap, worn canvas tote bag to her chest.

As she crossed the edge of Leo's peripheral vision, she let her momentum carry her too fast. Her foot slipped on the slick, rain-washed marble step. She let out a sharp cry.

She went down hard. Her knee slammed into the sharp edge of the marble. The skin tore. A sharp, hot pain shot up her leg, entirely real.

Leo stopped walking. The sound of her cry cut through the noise of the rain. He turned his head and looked down at the steps.

Lila pushed herself up on her hands. The rain washed over her face. She looked up, her eyes wide, wet, and perfectly terrified.

Their eyes locked.

Leo recognized her. She saw the exact second his pupils contracted. It was the girl from the cemetery.

His gaze didn't stay on her face. It dropped. It dragged slowly, deliberately, down her throat, stopping at her chest.

The wet silk hid absolutely nothing. The cold rain and her rapid breathing made the display impossible to ignore. The contrast between her innocent, terrified face and the raw sexuality of her soaked body was jarring.

Leo's throat moved as he swallowed. His eyes darkened, turning entirely black. The boredom was gone. He looked at her the way a starving animal looks at an open wound.

Conrad, the massive bodyguard standing next to Leo, stepped forward. "Boss. You want me to clear her out?"

Leo raised one hand. He didn't look at Conrad. He kept his eyes nailed to Lila.

He took a slow step toward her. His expensive leather shoe splashed into a puddle. The physical dominance radiating from him was suffocating.

Lila knew she couldn't stay. If he touched her now, the game was over.

She scrambled backward. She let out a choked sob, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest to cover herself. She pushed off the ground, ignoring the bleeding scrape on her knee.

She left the cheap canvas bag lying on the wet marble.

She turned and sprinted toward the subway entrance down the block, disappearing into the gray wall of rain.

Leo stood on the steps. He didn't order his men to chase her. He just watched her run.

He looked down at the soaked canvas bag by his feet. A slow, dark smile spread across his face.

"Interesting," he murmured.

He turned and walked into the church.

Down in the subway tunnel, Lila leaned against the dirty tile wall. Water dripped from her hair onto the concrete. She touched her bleeding knee, and a cold, victorious smile touched her lips.