Maxine pulls the key out of her handbag and with astonishingly steady hands, she unlocks the gate that leads to the front door of the building.

Lena and I barrel in after her. Oliver and Finn aren’t far behind. Finn is still conscious, which is a good sign, but he’s gone so pale and has a hazy look in his eyes.

The gate swings behind us with a clang and locks automatically. I place my hands on my knees and suck in a breath.

Cautiously Lena looks through the bars of the locked entrance. “There’s no one coming, I don’t think they followed.”

“Let’s not wait around to find out,” Maxine says.

The flat is quiet as the elevator dings and we step out. Oliver shoves his jacket against where Finn’s shoulder is bleeding to keep his blood from making a mess of the floors.

We collapse into the guest room at the end of the hall where Finn has taken up residence.

Oliver, who is still half supporting Finn’s body weight, shoves him hard off his shoulder and onto the floor. Finn winces as he falls.

“You’re going to get blood on the carpet,” Maxine says, and wastes no time grabbing fresh towels from the bathroom.

I don’t want to be the person to check on Finn. He’s breathing heavily, but we all are. There is an enormous amount of blood, but it all seems to be coming from his shoulder, which is a good sign. I tamp down the instinct to kneel at his side and play nurse.

Maxine tosses him the towels. He strips off his shirt, soaked through with blood, and presses one of them to his shoulder.

We take a moment to catch our breaths. After a short while he says, “I think it just grazed me.”

“All right,” Maxine says.

I can’t say I want Finn dead, but the three of us refuse to show him any real sympathy.

“I can give you tips on gunshot wound recovery if you’d like,” Oliver snipes. I wonder if Finn even remembers one of his men from the Sons shot Oliver nearly two years ago.

Finn steps into the bathroom. “I’ll clean the wound myself, thank you.”

We’re startled by a knock at the door. Oliver ducks behind the bed. Before we can panic, Greta appears in the doorway with her morning sterling silver carafe of coffee.

“Oh!” She jumps at the sight of us sitting on the floor. Lena pulls a silk throw pillow over the bloodstain on the carpet.

Just when I think we’re about to be scolded a small smile appears on her face. “I was young once. Don’t let your mother see, Maxine darling. I’ll leave you to it.”