The knife was still warm when Dominic Moretti found it.It lay on the concrete floor of the warehouse, a cheap folding blade with a wooden handle, slick with blood that hadn't yet dried. Dominic stared at it for a long moment, his breath misting in the cold air, his chest tight with something that had nothing to do with the winter chill.Behind him, a dozen men waited in silence. They had been waiting for hours, ever since the body had been discovered. No one had dared touch the knife. No one had dared speak.Dominic crouched down, his knees protesting the movement. He studied the blade without touching it. The blood on the handle was smeared, not dripped. Whoever had used it had gripped it hard, twisted it, made sure the cuts went deep.He looked at the body.Captain Enzo Marchetti had been a soldier for fifteen years. He had a wife named Rosa who made the best lasagna in Brooklyn. He had three children who called him Papa and believed he worked in shipping. He had been loyal, reliab

Dominic left the estate before dawn, slipping through the back gate in a car that belonged to no one on any official record. The driver was a man named Silvio, a ghost who had worked for the family for thirty years and whose name appeared in no database. Silvio didn't ask questions. He simply drove.The city was still half-asleep, the streets empty except for garbage trucks and delivery vans. Dominic watched the buildings slide past, his mind working through the problem from every angle.Someone had tried to kill him. Someone inside the family had helped. And the only person who could tell him the truth was a woman he had not spoken to in eight years.The car stopped outside a brownstone in Queens. The neighborhood was quiet, working-class, the kind of place where people minded their own business and didn't ask questions about visitors who arrived before sunrise.Dominic got out and walked to the door. He pressed the buzzer once.A long pause. Then a woman's voice, rough with sleep: "

The explosion came at 9:47 AM.Dominic was in his study when the windows rattled and the chandelier swayed. A distant boom, followed by the wail of sirens. He was on his feet before Marco burst through the door."Boss—one of our warehouses. Red Hook."Dominic's jaw tightened. "Casualties?""Three dead. Two wounded. The shipment is gone."The shipment. Forty million dollars' worth of product, scheduled to move through the port that afternoon. Only five people had known the exact time and location."Who's there now?""Paulie's team. They secured the perimeter.""Get me Vincent. Now."---Vincent arrived twenty minutes later, his face pale."I just heard," he said. "I'm sorry, Dominic. I should have—""You should have what?" Dominic cut him off. "You should have known? You should have prevented it? Tell me, Vincent—how do you prevent an attack when the enemy knows your every move?"Vincent didn't answer."Someone is feeding Sal information," Dominic continued. "The captain. The sniper. N

Adrian's phone had been dead for six hours.Dominic stared at the map of Chicago spread across his desk, red pins marking the last known locations of his son's team. The warehouse. The safehouse. The meeting point. All silent. All dark."Tell me again," Dominic said.Marco stood across from him, his face grim. "Adrian's team hit Sal's operation in the South Side at midnight. They took the warehouse, killed four of Sal's men, and secured the product. Then they called for extraction.""And?""The extraction team found the warehouse empty. No Adrian. No bodies. Nothing but blood on the floor."Dominic's hand tightened on the edge of the desk. Blood. Adrian's blood or someone else's—there was no way to know."Who was on his team?""Six men. All experienced. All loyal.""Were any of them found?""No."Dominic closed his eyes. Six men and his son, vanished without a trace. Sal hadn't just ambushed them. He had erased them."Get me Vincent," Dominic said. "Now."---Vincent arrived within th

Sal Vane's men dragged Dominic aboard the yacht and threw him into a chair.His chest was burning. His vision kept blurring at the edges. But he forced himself to sit upright, to keep his eyes open, to look Sal in the face.Adrian was on the floor a few feet away. Beaten. Bloody. But breathing."You're a fool," Sal said, settling into a chair across from Dominic. "A sentimental fool.""Maybe." Dominic's voice came out rough. "But I'm a fool who's still alive.""For now." Sal gestured to his men. "Tie him."They bound Dominic's wrists to the arms of the chair. The rope was tight enough to cut circulation. Dominic didn't struggle. He had expected this."Here's how this works," Sal said. "You're going to call your people and tell them to stand down. Then you're going to transfer control of your operations to me. Every account. Every contact. Every asset.""And if I refuse?"Sal nodded toward Adrian. One of his men kicked Adrian in the ribs. Adrian groaned but didn't scream."I can do thi