The Mafia boss found a terrified little girl hiding behind a tree, but her whispered plea forced him to uncover a betrayal inside his own mansion.

The old Atlantic Iron Foundry in Newark, New Jersey, had been abandoned since nineteen-eighty-four. Its rusted corrugated steel walls, shattered skylights, and cavernous interior made it a graveyard of industrial history.

At eleven-forty-five PM, Renata Voss led a convoy of six black Falcone vans through the rusted chain-link perimeter fence.

Renata sat in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, holding a heavy wool scarf over her collar. She looked exhausted, her aged face pale from her "escape" from the Valenti gatehouse, but her eyes burned with toxic triumphant malice.

Beside her sat Carmine Falcone himself—a heavy, brutal man in his sixties with silver hair, a scarred neck, and diamond rings on four of his fingers.

“You’re sure they are inside?” Carmine asked, checking the magazine of his chrome-plated .45 pistol.

“I saw the convoy leave the estate myself,” Renata rasped, her voice bitter and cold. “Adrian sent the maid and the child here under guard of four men. He thinks it’s a safehouse. He’s back at the estate preparing his defenses.”

Carmine chuckled—a dark, wet sound. “Arrogant bastard. He thought he could shoot up my brother’s car and get away with it. We kill the guards, take the widow, find the drives, and then we burn this place to the ground with her kid inside.”

Renata didn't flinch at the mention of the child. “Just ensure my wire transfers are restored once this is done.”

“You’ll get your money, old woman,” Carmine spat, kicking open his door. “Move in!”

Thirty heavily armed Falcone soldiers poured out of the vans, their automatic rifles raised, moving in tactical formation toward the massive double doors of the central foundry hall.

They kicked the doors off their hinges with a heavy CLANG.

The interior of the foundry was pitch black, smelled of wet rust and old coal dust.

“Clear the floor!” Carmine shouted, stepping inside with six guards framing him. “Where is she?!”

Suddenly, massive industrial halogen floodlights erupted from the high steel rafters overhead!

The blinding, white-hot light illuminated the entire five-acre interior of the foundry.

Carmine shielded his eyes, cursing loudly.

When his vision cleared, his blood turned to ice.

There were no maid. There were no terrified four-year-old child.

Standing in a massive semicircle across the foundry floor were fifty Valenti soldiers, armed with heavy tactical shotguns, assault rifles, and body armor. Behind them sat two armored security vehicles with mounted heavy machine guns pointed directly at the entry doors.

And standing right in the center of the trap—wearing black Kevlar with a small, worn stuffed rabbit poking out of his radio pocket—was Adrian Valenti.

Beside him sat Rex, his throat rumbling like an incoming storm.

“Hello, Carmine,” Adrian said smoothly, his voice amplified by the acoustic metal roof. “You’re late.”

Carmine spun around, grabbing Renata by her collar and shoving his gun against her temple! “You set me up, you old whore!”

“No!” Renata shrieked, terror finally shattering her face as she looked at Adrian. “Adrian! How... how did you know?!”

“Elena gave me the drives three hours after you framed her, Renata,” Adrian said coldly, taking three slow steps forward. “You sold forty years of loyalty for twenty percent of dock kickbacks. You are a terrible investment.”