Gabriel stared at Evan for three long, agonizing seconds, searching the face of the man who had stood beside him through turf wars, federal investigations, and the long, blood-soaked transition into legitimate enterprise.

The South Side Rail Maintenance Facility was a sprawling, industrial relic from the early 20th century. Rusting iron girders, decaying freight cars, and massive brick warehouses sat beside a tangle of snow-covered train tracks.

At 11:15 PM, the storm was howling through the open steel rafters of Warehouse 4. Wind whipped through broken glass panes, driving snow into drift piles across the concrete floor.

Inside the warehouse, three black SUVs pulled up, their engines idling quietly in the dark.

The doors flew open, and twelve men stepped out into the freeze. They wore heavy winter coats over tactical vests, armed with suppressed automatic carbines.

Among them was Nolan Pierce, holding a heavy electronic lock-picking kit, and Frank Moretti, wrapped in a mink-collared overcoat, his silver hair glittering with snowflakes.

A moment later, a sedan pulled up. Evan Cross stepped out, his face pale, holding a heavy snub-nosed revolver inside his coat pocket.

“Is he here yet?” Evan demanded, stepping up to Moretti, his breath pluming in the freezing air.

“His car isn't in the yard,” Moretti rasped, chewing on an unlit cigar. “Where’s the safe?”

“In the rear office beneath the control tower,” Evan said, pointing toward a raised metal structure at the far end of the darkened warehouse. “Nolan, get the kit ready. Once we breach the safe, we set the thermite charges on the structural supports. When Gabriel drives through those doors at midnight, the whole warehouse comes down on him.”

“Neat,” Moretti grunted. “No bodies, no evidence, just a roof collapse during a blizzard.”

Nolan Pierce nodded nervously, his left shoe giving off a soft, wet squeak against the slick concrete as he moved toward the control tower staircase.

Squeak.

Step.

Squeak.

Nolan stopped dead in his tracks.

The sound hadn't come from his shoe.

It had come from the dark rafters thirty feet above their heads.

“Did you hear that?” Nolan whispered, turning around, his flashlight beam piercing the gloom.

“Shut up and move,” Moretti growled.

Suddenly, a massive steel shutter slammed down behind them with a deafening, metallic crash, blocking the main entrance.

Before the men could react, two more steel blast doors slammed down over the side exits, sealing the twelve shooters, Moretti, Nolan, and Evan inside Warehouse 4.

The floodlights in the rafters burst to life, blinding the men below with thousands of watts of harsh white light.

“Ambush!” Moretti screamed, pulling a heavy pistol from his coat. “Get under the gantry!”

From the raised control tower, a deep, resonant voice echoed over the warehouse intercom system.

“Fourteen years, Evan.”

Evan’s heart stopped. He whirled around, staring up at the ballistic glass windows of the control tower.

Gabriel Rowan stood behind the reinforced glass, holding a microphone. Beside him stood Marcus Vance, calmly monitoring a bank of tactical camera controls.

“Gabriel!” Evan yelled, his voice cracking as he looked up into the glaring floodlights. “Listen to me!”

“I listened to you for fourteen years,” Gabriel’s voice boomed through the speakers, cold and unyielding. “I listened to you tell me we were brothers. I listened to you promise that you believed in building something clean for our children. And all the while, you were waiting for the highest bidder.”

“He lied to you, Gabriel!” Evan shouted, pointing wildly at Moretti. “Moretti reached out to me! He threatened my family! I was trying to protect you!”

Moretti’s eyes narrowed into slits. Without saying a word, the mob boss raised his revolver, pointed it at the back of Evan’s knee, and pulled the trigger.

A loud BANG echoed through the steel rafters.

Evan shrieked in agony, dropping to his hands and knees on the freezing concrete, blood pooling beneath his leg.

“You sniveling little worm,” Moretti spat on Evan. “You sold out your boss, and now you try to blame me?”

Moretti looked up at the control tower, raising his hands spread wide. “Gabriel! It’s business! You know how the streets work! We make a deal right now! I give you Evan, I give you Nolan, and we split the South Side dock rights fifty-fifty! Nobody has to die tonight!”

Gabriel looked down at the men trapped in his kill-box.