“ARMS UP, MR. DINOSAUR!” I raised both arms.

Smoke choked the penthouse.

The wind from the New York skyline whipped through the shattered balcony, carrying the acrid smell of explosives.

“Marco! Secure the girl!” I roared, coughing as I pushed myself off Lily’s wheelchair.

I had taken the brunt of the glass. My back was bleeding, ruining the white dress shirt beneath my suit, but I didn't feel the pain. Adrenaline flooded my veins like liquid fire.

Marco grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. Clara was already dragging Lily toward the reinforced panic room down the hall, her physical therapist scrubs covered in dust.

“Mr. Dinosaur!” Lily screamed, terrified, reaching her small hand out toward me.

“I’m right behind you, princess!” I yelled back.

Through the smoke, four men in black tactical gear stepped into my living room from the ruined balcony. They carried suppressed submachine guns.

And standing calmly behind them, leaning on his silver cane, was Silvio.

He had sold me out to the Falcone family. My own uncle.

I didn't hesitate. I drew my heavy .45 caliber handgun from my shoulder holster and fired twice.

The lead tactical soldier dropped instantly, a bullet finding the gap in his body armor.

The other three returned fire.

Bullets tore through my expensive leather couches and shattered the marble kitchen island. I dove behind a massive oak bookcase, returning fire with calculated, lethal precision.

I hadn't become the boss of the Moretti family by sitting behind a desk. I grew up on the streets. I survived by being faster and more ruthless than the men who wanted me dead.

Another soldier went down, clutching his shattered knee.

“Covering fire!” Marco shouted.

Marco stepped out from the hallway, unleashing a barrage of bullets that forced the remaining mercenaries to duck for cover.

“Get them in the vault, Marco! Now!” I ordered.

Marco didn't argue. He shoved the wheelchair down the hall, Clara running desperately beside him.

“Dominic!” Silvio’s voice echoed through the gunfire, completely calm. “There are thirty more men coming up the freight elevator. You can't win this. Just give me the bracelet!”

“Go to hell, Silvio!” I yelled, reloading my magazine.

I rolled out from behind the bookcase and fired three rapid shots. The third soldier collapsed.

Only one mercenary remained, shielding Silvio.

But suddenly, the massive oak doors to my penthouse burst open from the main hallway.

My own men flooded into the room. A dozen heavily armed Moretti enforcers, led by my second-in-command, Dante.

“Boss, get down!” Dante roared.

The remaining mercenary didn't stand a chance. The room erupted in a deafening crossfire.

When the smoke finally cleared, the mercenaries were dead.

But Silvio was gone.

He had slipped back out onto the balcony and rappelled down to the adjacent roof. He had survived. Again.

“Lock down the building!” I barked at Dante, standing up and brushing the broken glass off my shoulders. “Nobody leaves! Check the freight elevators!”

“Boss, you’re bleeding,” Dante said, pointing to my ruined shirt.

“It’s nothing.”

I didn't wait for the medics. I sprinted down the hallway toward the panic room.

The heavy steel door was sealed.

I punched the security code into the keypad. The hydraulic locks hissed, and the door swung open.

Inside the reinforced concrete room, Clara was kneeling on the floor, holding Lily tightly. The little girl was sobbing into the woman’s shoulder.

Marco stood by the door, his gun still drawn, his eyes scanning the hallway behind me.

“They’re gone,” I told Marco.

I dropped to my knees in front of Lily.

“Princess, look at me,” I said gently, wiping a smudge of soot from her cheek. “You’re safe. I promise you, nobody is going to hurt you.”

Lily sniffled, her brown eyes wide with fear. She reached out and grabbed the lapel of my suit.

“Why did that man want my bracelet?” she whispered.

I looked at the heavy silver lion wrapped around her tiny wrist.

The key to a hundred-million-dollar ledger. The reason my brother was murdered.

“It belonged to your father, Lily,” I said softly. “It’s very important.”

I gently unclasped the bracelet. The silver was heavy in my palm.

I ran my thumb over the lion’s head. Silvio said the key was hidden inside.

I applied pressure to the lion’s open jaw.

There was a faint click.

The top of the lion’s head popped open on a tiny hinge.

Inside was a micro-SD card. Not a physical key, but a digital one.

I pulled it out, staring at the tiny black square that had cost Julian his life.

“Clara,” I said, looking up at the physical therapist. “You said Lily’s mother died in a car accident in Brooklyn.”

Clara nodded, wiping her own tears. “Yes. The police report said she lost control on the icy bridge.”

“What was her name?”

“Elena,” Clara said. “Elena Rostova.”

I froze.

Elena Rostova.

I knew that name.

Ten years ago, Victor Falcone’s beautiful, fiery young mistress was named Elena Rostova. She had vanished mysteriously right before the blood truce was signed.

Julian hadn't just stolen Victor Falcone’s money.

Julian had stolen Victor’s woman.

Lily wasn't just my niece.

She was the daughter of the woman Victor Falcone had loved obsessively.

And suddenly, the pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.

Julian didn't die in an accident. Elena didn't die on the bridge.

Victor Falcone had murdered them both.

I stood up, gripping the micro-SD card so tightly it almost snapped.

“Marco,” I said, my voice cold as the grave. “Get the armored cars. We’re moving them to the upstate compound.”

“Right away, Boss.”

As Marco turned to leave, his radio crackled again.

“Boss,” Dante’s voice came through, sounding tense. “You need to see this. We found something in the freight elevator.”