THE MAFIA BOSS FROZE WHEN THE WAITRESS SAID, “THAT CABLE WAS CUT”—THEN TURNED TO HIS MEN AND SAID, “LOCK THE CLUB.”

The railyard was a graveyard of rusted boxcars and overgrown weeds.

The rain had stopped, leaving a heavy, freezing fog rolling over the tracks.

Vincent stopped the car a hundred yards from the central warehouse.

"From here, we walk," he said.

We stepped out into the damp chill. I kept my hands in the pockets of the wool coat. My right hand gripped the altered bracelet.

As we approached the warehouse, floodlights snapped on, blinding us.

"Drop your weapons, Vincenzo."

Frankie Russo stepped out from the shadows. He had a shotgun aimed at Vincent’s chest.

Vincent didn't flinch. He slowly pulled his pistol from his waistband and dropped it onto the gravel.

"Kick it away."

Vincent kicked it.

Frankie smirked. "Never thought I'd see the great Vincent Moretti walk into a trap."

"Where is my father, Frankie?"

"Inside. Waiting."

Frankie motioned with the barrel of the gun. We walked into the cavernous warehouse.

Sitting in a folding chair in the center of the room was Don Carlo. He looked older than his pictures. Frail, but his eyes were like black glass.

Beside him, tied to a chair, was Leo.

"Aunt Grace!" Leo cried out, struggling against the ropes.

"Leo!" I started to run to him, but two massive men stepped in my path.

"Ah, the mechanic's daughter," Carlo wheezed, smiling a thin, cruel smile. "You have your father's stubborn chin. He refused to give me the bracelet, even when the van was falling on him."

My blood ran cold.

Answer one: Don Carlo had personally ordered my father's murder, orchestrating the "accident."

"Give me the bracelet," Carlo demanded, holding out a liver-spotted hand.

I looked at Vincent. He gave a microscopic nod.

I pulled the gold chain from my pocket. It dangled in the dim light, the brass cufflink catching the glare.

"Let the boy go first," I said.

Carlo laughed. "You don't negotiate with me, little girl."

"I do when I have the ledgers," Vincent interrupted.

Carlo’s eyes snapped to his son.

"The physical books," Vincent lied smoothly. "I left them with a lawyer. If we don't call him by 3:00 AM, he mails them to the FBI, the IRS, and every rival family in Chicago. Every bribe, every hidden body. Your empire burns overnight."

Carlo’s face tightened.

He stared at Vincent, weighing the truth of the threat.

"You wouldn't do that," Carlo said. "It would destroy you, too."

"I'm already dead to you," Vincent replied coldly. "I have nothing to lose."

Carlo hesitated. That split second of doubt was all we needed.

"Give me the bracelet," Carlo commanded. "I'll release the boy."

I walked forward slowly. I placed the chain in Carlo’s outstretched hand.

He held it up to the light, squinting at the charm.

"This..." Carlo's face twisted in rage. "This is a cufflink! Where are the numbers?!"

"Get down!" Vincent roared.

Before Frankie or the guards could react, a deafening explosion shattered the warehouse windows.

Vincent hadn't come without a backup plan. The crew he had called earlier hadn't just fetched the box; they had surrounded the building.