"I've come to collect the debt you owe my mother," the girl told the mob boss...

The old shipping yard on the coast of San Diego was a desolate expanse of rusted shipping containers and dark, oil-stained concrete. The fog rolled off the Pacific Ocean, swallowing the yellow lights of the industrial cranes.

Lorenzo Falcone stood in the center of an empty warehouse, surrounded by fifteen heavily armed mercenaries. In his hand, he held a small, silver insulated case containing the single blue vial of the ricin antidote.

"Ten minutes until midnight," Lorenzo sneered, checking his diamond encrusted watch. "Rivas is smart. He knows if he plays games, the girl’s liver liquefies by morning."

Suddenly, the massive corrugated iron doors of the warehouse didn't just open—they were blown inward by a synchronized C4 detonation. The explosive blast sent metal shards flying through the air, instantly neutralizing three of Lorenzo’s front guards.

Before the smoke could even clear, four black armored SUVs smashed through the debris, their high-beams blinding the remaining mercenaries. Marcus’s team opened fire from the modified turrets on the roofs, a heavy, rhythmic hail of suppressed caliber bullets tearing through the warehouse walls.

Lorenzo scrambled backward, trying to reach his armored limousine, but a single, precise shot from a high-caliber sniper rifle shattered the vehicle’s engine block, sending a cloud of white steam into the air.

Damian Rivas stepped out of the lead SUV, his black coat billowing in the cold sea wind. He didn't take cover. He walked down the center of the warehouse, a heavy tactical shotgun in his right hand, firing with an absolute, terrifying accuracy that left no mercenary standing for more than a second.

"Falcone!" Damian’s voice echoed off the steel rafters like thunder.

Lorenzo fell to his knees beside his ruined car, his hands shaking as he held the silver case against his chest. "Stay back, Rivas! Stay back or I’ll smash the vial! If I drop this, the girl dies in two hours!"

Damian stopped ten feet away. His gray eyes were completely black with a primal, protective rage. He didn't lower his weapon.

"If you smash that vial, Lorenzo," Damian said, his voice softer than the fog, "I won't kill you quickly like your brother. I will keep you alive for months. I will let my doctors show you exactly how much pain a human body can endure before the heart stops."

Lorenzo looked around at the bodies of his fifteen elite mercenaries, all neutralized within less than ninety seconds. He looked at the tall, dark sovereign of the underworld standing before him, and he realized that there was no negotiation with a man who had traded his soul to protect a child.

With a trembling sob, Lorenzo slid the silver case across the concrete floor. "Take it. Take it and let me go."

Damian picked up the case, checking the blue vial inside. It was intact. He handed it to Marcus, who immediately sprinted toward the medical helicopter waiting at the edge of the shipping yard.

Then, Damian looked down at Lorenzo Falcone.