I was the mafia boss people in three counties knew as Gabriel “The Saint” Romano, a man whose name could empty a room without anyone raising their voice. But when I found a ten-year-old boy walking alone along a dangerous country road, hiding what had been happening to him because he wanted to protect his exhausted mother, I discovered the people tormenting him were connected to a family already causing trouble inside my organization.

Two days later, on a rainy Thursday afternoon, Sarah Vance was finishing her shift at her new office near the park. Mason was sitting in the lobby, reading a comic book while waiting for her to lock up.

Outside, a non-descript gray van pulled up to the curb. Three men in raincoats stepped out, their hands concealed inside their pockets.

They pushed open the glass doors of the building, moving fast toward the desk where Mason sat.

"Kid," one of the men grunted, grabbing Mason's arm firmly. "Comes with us. Don't make a sound."

Mason gasped, but before he could scream, a voice echoed from the shadowed hallway behind the desk.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The three men froze.

From the shadows stepped six of my best security guards, weapons drawn with laser sights painting crimson dots across the intruders' chests. Out from the back office walked Vincent—and behind him, myself.

The lead kidnapper let go of Mason immediately, raising his hands in horror. "Romano!"

"Did you really think I wouldn't watch the people I promise to protect?" I said, walking slowly across the marble floor. "Salvatore sold you out before you even got in the van. He thought he was using you, and you thought you were using him."

Vincent stepped forward and disarmed the men in seconds, forcing them to their knees.