I wasn’t supposed to be home that night—and the second my bedroom door clicked shut behind me, my maid grabbed me from the dark, clamped a trembling hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the closet. “Don’t make a sound,” she breathed, and for the first time in thirty years, I realized the person trying to save my life was the one woman I had never truly seen.

Panic seized the room like a sudden plague. The bosses of the other four families threw their hands up, scrambling away from the table and pressing themselves against the far walls, desperate to signal their neutrality.

"Hold your fire!" Lucchesi screamed to his remaining guards. "We aren't part of this! This is between Moretti and Carter!"

Dominic Moretti grabbed Paul Mercer by his collar, using the trembling accountant as a human shield as he dragged him toward his private office door at the back of the ballroom.

"Kill them! Kill them all!" Dominic shrieked to his remaining six mercenary guards.

Marcus didn't give them a chance. He moved like a man possessed by his father’s spirit, firing three precise bursts that dropped three mercenaries before they could clear their holsters. Elena flanked the left side, sweeping through the remaining guards with lethal, beautiful efficiency, her silenced pistol clicking empty just as the last guard hit the marble floor.

I didn't stop walking. I passed the terrified commission bosses, my eyes fixed entirely on Dominic Moretti.

Dominic reached his office door, kicked Paul Mercer to the floor, and tried to slam the heavy oak door shut.

I reached the door before it locked, slamming my heavy boot against the frame. The wood splintered with a loud crack, flying open to reveal Dominic frantically trying to clear a jam in his nickel-plated revolver.

I stepped into the room, grabbed Dominic by his throat, and slammed his heavy body onto his glass executive desk. The glass shattered under his weight, sending crystal ornaments and paperwork crashing to the floor.

"Vincent! Please!" Dominic gasped, his hands clawing uselessly at my grip on his windpipe. "It was business! Just business! I'll give you back the ports! I'll give you fifty percent of the Moretti assets!"

"You lied to my brother's son," I said, my voice cold enough to freeze the blood in his veins. "You made him believe I killed Thomas. You turned my own blood into a weapon against my house."

Marcus stepped into the office, his rifle lowered, his chest heaving as he stared down at the man who had manipulated his entire life.

"Marcus..." Dominic wheezed, looking at the young man with desperate, terrified eyes. "Tell him... tell him I gave you a chance! We were going to rule together!"

Marcus pulled his father's silver pocket watch from his coat—a watch I had given him on his eighteenth birthday—and set it quietly on the shattered glass beside Dominic’s head.

"My father died with his dignity intact," Marcus said softly, his voice trembling with a terrifying calm. "You're going to die on the floor like a dog."

I released Dominic’s throat. He fell back onto the desk, coughing violently, gasping for air.

I turned to Marcus, handing him my heavy .45 caliber pistol.

"This is your debt to settle, Marcus," I said quietly. "For your father. For our house."

Marcus took the cold heavy steel pistol into his hands. He didn't hesitate. He raised the weapon, looking Dominic Moretti straight in the eyes.