The midnight asphalt stretched out under the torrential downpour as Raphael’s dark sleek sedan sliced through the storm on Interstate 95 North

The tires shrieked as Raphael pulled a hard handbrake turn, sliding the heavy sedan into the shadow of an abandoned brick warehouse near the Boston docks. The smell of salt, oil, and wet rust hung thick in the night air.

"Stay in the car. Lock the doors," Raphael instructed, reaching beneath his jacket to unholster a custom black 9mm pistol.

"Raphael, please," Josephine pleaded, her hands grabbing his sleeve. The raw fear in her voice was intoxicating, not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid for him. "They have guns. There are two cars!"

Raphael paused, looking down at her hand on his sleeve. Slowly, he reached over and patted her knuckles. "Josephine, I’ve survived twenty years in this city. Two SUVs filled with Moretti’s hired muscle do not rank among my greatest concerns. Keep your head down."

He slipped out of the car, shutting the door quietly.

A second later, the two black SUVs skidded to a halt, blocking the exit of the warehouse alleyway. The doors flew open, and six men dressed in heavy dark coats stepped out, rain glistening on their leather jackets. Weapons were drawn.

The lead man, a scarred enforcer named Lorenzo, stepped forward with a cruel grin. "Raphael Orsini. Driving around at one in the morning without your usual army? Dominic sends his regards. You shouldn't have touched those ledgers, Don Raphael."

Raphael stood in the open, the rain soaking his crisp white shirt, his eyes completely dark. "Lorenzo. You always were short-sighted. Did Dominic tell you what happens to the families of the men who execute his hits?"

Lorenzo hesitated for a fraction of a second, but raised his pistol. "It doesn't matter. You die tonight."

Before Lorenzo could pull the trigger, a sudden deafening roar echoed through the alley. From the shadows of the warehouse roofs, four men dressed in tactical gear dropped down like specters. Suppressed gunfire spat through the dark—thwip, thwip, thwip.

Three of Lorenzo’s men dropped to the wet concrete instantly. Lorenzo shrieked in shock, spinning around, but Raphael was already upon him. In a fluid, terrifying motion, Raphael closed the distance, grabbed Lorenzo’s wrist, twisted it until the bone snapped, and slammed the man’s face onto the hood of the idling SUV.

The remaining two enforcers dropped their weapons, raising their hands in absolute panic as Gideon Marsh stepped out from the shadows, a heavy shotgun slung over his shoulder, flanked by four Orsini soldiers.

"I told you I wasn't coming alone, Raphael," Gideon said smoothly, stepping over the fallen men. "You really think I’d let you drive into Boston without a proper reception committee?"

Raphael looked down at Lorenzo, who was groaning on the hood of the car. He grabbed Lorenzo by the hair, forcing his head up. "Tell Dominic Moretti that I am going to Harbor Children's Hospital. If I see a single one of his men within five miles of that building, I won't wait for the grand jury on Monday. I will personally feed him to the fish in this harbor."

Raphael shoved the man aside, turned, and walked back to his sedan.

When he opened the driver’s door, Josephine was huddled in the passenger seat, staring at him through the glass with wide, trembling eyes.

Raphael tossed his weapon onto the back seat, wiped a smear of rain and blood from his cheek with his handkerchief, and started the engine.