The private jet is Kozlov family luxury.

Leather seats. Crystal glasses. Food that costs more than most people's rent.

Aria stares out the window at clouds passing below. In six hours, they'll be in Chicago.

In twelve hours, they'll start killing people.

The thought should terrify her.

Instead, it just makes her tired.

"You okay?" Dominic asks.

"The baby's moving."

"First time?"

"That I've noticed."

She places her hand on her stomach. Still flat. Still easy to hide. But something's growing in ...