Thony looked at the vial, then at the man who was both her captor and her only hope. "I’ll clear the trail. But if Garrett follows me, I can't promise I'll lead him away from you."

Arman finally turned, his eyes searching hers for a hint of betrayal. "Garrett Miller. He’s been sniffing around. He thinks you’re the weak link, Thony."

Arman walked toward her, pulling a refrigerated vial from his jacket. He held it just out of reach. "Tonight, there’s a shipment coming in through the desert. High-end tech, high-stakes buyers. If the FBI shows up, I don't just need a cleaner. I need a ghost."

Thony tucked the vial into her apron, the cold glass a reminder of the life she was fighting for. She didn't look back as she pushed her cart into the elevator. In the reflection of the gold-plated doors, she didn't see a doctor or a cleaning lady. She saw a woman who was becoming the very thing she used to fear.

The cleaning cart rattled across the sterile tiles of the Arman Morales’ penthouse, a sound Thony De La Rosa had learned to associate with survival rather than chores. It had been weeks since she traded her stethoscope for a spray bottle, all to keep her son, Luca, alive.

"The bus was held at a checkpoint," Thony replied, her voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in her chest. "The feds are tightening the perimeter around the club."

"You’re late," Arman said without turning around. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the Las Vegas strip bleeding neon light onto his tailored suit.