“Sir, can you take me home?” a three-year-old girl asked me outside a pharmacy, soaked by the midnight rain and clutching medicine for her sick grandmother. I was Vincent Caruso, a man strangers avoided rather than approached—but when I delivered that child home, her grandmother looked at me with unmistakable hatred, as if she’d been waiting years for the man who had just walked through her door.

Marcus Vance looked almost regal despite his brutal profession. In his late fifties, with silver-streaked hair and a tailored charcoal suit, he projected the aura of a ruthless corporate CEO. But behind his cold blue eyes lay the mind of a predator.

“Vincent,” Marcus said smoothly, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the falling rain. “You look well for a man who served three years in federal prison on my account.”

I kept my gun leveled at his head, standing ten paces away in the alleyway. The rain beat down hard against my face, running into my scar.

“Marcus,” I said flatly. “Send your men away. This isn't your fight.”

Marcus let out a dry, chilling laugh. “Not my fight? You’re carrying five hundred million dollars worth of evidence in your coat, Vincent. Evidence that my idiot brother Julian tried to hide from me.”

“Julian killed Claire,” I said, my voice dripping with venom. “He framed me, and he spent three years hunting a sick old woman and a three-year-old child.”

Marcus’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a dark, dangerous scowl. “Julian is a fool. A weak, greedy worm. He thought he could steal from me, use a civilian girl to hide his tracks, and then blame it on you. Do you think I didn't know?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew!” Marcus spat. “Julian ordered the hit on Claire because she realized he was skimming off the top. I let Julian think he succeeded because I needed time to locate where Claire had hidden the ledgers. But then you walked back into the picture, Vincent.”

Marcus stepped out of the SUV, taking a slow step toward me, unbothered by the gun in my hand.

“You were my best enforcer, Vincent,” Marcus said softly, almost fatherly. “You had no family, no weaknesses, no conscience. When you walked away six years ago, it hurt my business deeply. But now... now you’re risking your life for a child that isn't even yours? Why? To play hero? To wash the blood off your hands?”

“I’m not playing hero, Marcus,” I said, my grip on the pistol tightening. “I’m finishing what should have been done six years ago.”

“Kill him,” Marcus said simply.

From the rooftops above the alleyway, two snipers opened fire.

Muzzle flashes illuminated the brick walls. I threw myself sideways behind a heavy metal dumpster just as high-caliber rounds chewed through the pavement where I had been standing a second before.

I returned fire toward the rooftop, catching one sniper in the shoulder, sending him tumbling over the ledge to the pavement below.

Marcus stepped back into the black SUV as his driver slammed the vehicle in reverse, roaring out of the alley into the Midtown traffic.

“Caruso!” Marcus’s voice echoed from the car’s loudspeaker as it sped away. “You have four hours! Give me the ledgers, or I will burn Queens to the ground!”