THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME STRUGGLE TO CARRYs HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH ONE ARM PRESSED AGAINST MY RIBS—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE FELL IN THE SERVICE COURTYARD,” BEFORE HE HAD EVEN ASKED WHY I COULDN’T STAND STRAIGHT.

The silence in the safe house office was suffocating.

Teresa’s words hung in the air like a death sentence. He's going to bring an army.

"Why wouldn't Luca know that?" I panicked, pushing myself up into a sitting position despite the fiery protest of my broken ribs. "Why would he walk into a trap?"

"Because my son is blinded by betrayal," Teresa explained calmly, though her hands trembled slightly where they rested on her lap. "He wants to look Marco in the eye. He wants to hear the confession. But Marco is a coward. A coward doesn't meet a blackmailer in the middle of the night by himself."

My heart hammered against my chest. Luca was walking into an ambush, expecting a simple payoff.

"We have to warn him," I said, reaching blindly for the desk phone.

"He left his primary cell phone here," Teresa noted grimly, pointing to the sleek black device sitting on Luca's desk. "He only took the burner. He doesn't want the signal traced."

"Then we have to call Daniel!" I insisted.

Teresa shook her head slowly. "Daniel went with him. They run radio silence during an operation like this. If they light up comms, Marco’s scanners will pick it up and he’ll know it’s a setup."

I stared at the older woman, completely horrified. "So we just sit here and wait for them to be slaughtered?"

Teresa’s sharp eyes met mine. The frail, seventy-two-year-old woman who had almost drowned hours earlier suddenly possessed the terrifying, formidable aura of a mafia matriarch who had survived decades of bloodshed.

"No," Teresa stated firmly. "We call the cavalry."

Teresa stood up and walked over to Luca's desk. She didn't pick up the phone. She reached under the heavy mahogany desk and pulled a small, hidden lever.

A hidden compartment popped open, revealing a red, old-school analog telephone.

"Who are you calling?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"The only man in Chicago Marco is terrified of," Teresa said, dialing a short, five-digit number.

The phone rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered on the other end.

"Speak," the voice commanded.

"It's Teresa Moretti," she said, her voice steady and commanding.

There was a pause on the other end.

"I was told you were at the bottom of the river, Teresa," the voice replied, devoid of any surprise.

"I swim well," Teresa deadpanned. "I need a favor, Yuri."

My blood ran cold. Yuri. The head of the Russian syndicate. The very people Marco was trying to start a war with.

"A favor from me?" Yuri chuckled darkly. "Your son’s fiancée just tried to sell me a shipment of counterfeit weapons and frame Luca for it. I am currently preparing my men to burn your son’s house to the ground."

"Vanessa Bellini is an idiot, and my son locked her in a basement," Teresa countered smoothly. "The real traitor is Marco. He hired the assassin. He set you up to take the fall for the war he was trying to start."

Silence echoed on the line.

"Marco is currently meeting my son at the West Side railyard," Teresa continued, pressing her advantage. "Luca thinks he’s walking into a quiet confession. I think he’s walking into an ambush. If Marco kills Luca tonight, he takes over the Moretti family, and your war with us becomes inevitable."

"Why are you telling me this?" Yuri asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

"Because if you send your men to the railyard and wipe out Marco’s crew," Teresa offered, playing the ultimate chess move, "I will ensure the Moretti syndicate grants you exclusive shipping rights through the South Side ports for the next five years. Free of charge."

I gasped. She was giving away millions of dollars in territory to save her son's life.

Yuri remained silent for a long, agonizing moment.

"Ten years," Yuri demanded.

"Done," Teresa agreed without hesitation.

"My men are five minutes away from the railyard," Yuri said. "Tell Luca to keep his head down."

The line clicked dead.

Teresa slowly hung up the red phone. She leaned heavily against the desk, the adrenaline finally crashing, leaving her pale and exhausted.

"You just allied with the Russians," I breathed, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the power play I had just witnessed.

"In this life, Emily," Teresa whispered, looking at me with profound sorrow, "you do not survive by having friends. You survive by having mutually beneficial enemies."

Meanwhile, three miles away, the West Side railyard was pitch black, illuminated only by the pale moonlight reflecting off rusted train cars.

Luca’s armored SUV sat idling in the shadows.

Luca stepped out of the vehicle, his heavy tactical pistol drawn and held by his side. Daniel and four of his most trusted men fanned out behind him, melting into the darkness between the massive steel containers.

A sleek, silver Mercedes was parked in the center of the clearing.

Marco stood leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette. He looked nervous, his eyes darting toward the shadows. He held a thick manila envelope in his left hand.

Luca walked slowly into the moonlight, stepping out from behind a rusted boxcar.

Marco didn't realize it was Luca. The shadows obscured his face.

"You took your time, Thomas," Marco sneered, tossing his cigarette onto the gravel. "I told you, I want this handled cleanly. Did you make sure the old woman is dead?"

Luca stopped walking. He stood ten feet away from his cousin.

He didn't say a word. He just stepped fully into the light.

Marco froze.

The color drained entirely from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse. The manila envelope slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the gravel with a soft thud.

"Luca," Marco breathed, sheer terror paralyzing his vocal cords.

"Hello, Marco," Luca said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that echoed through the quiet railyard. "I hear you're looking for Thomas. Unfortunately, he had an accident in my wine cellar."

Marco stumbled backward, his back hitting the hood of his Mercedes. "Luca, please, I can explain—"

"You ordered a hit on my mother," Luca interrupted, his voice void of any human emotion. He raised his pistol, aiming it directly at Marco’s chest. "You tried to murder the woman who raised you."

"It was Vanessa!" Marco shrieked, desperately throwing the blame. "She manipulated me! She promised me control of the Bellini ports if I helped her!"

"You're a coward, Marco," Luca stated coldly. "You always were."

Luca’s finger tightened on the trigger.

But before he could fire, the darkness around them erupted.

Floodlights suddenly snapped on from the roofs of the surrounding train cars, blinding Luca and his men.

"Drop the gun, Luca!" a voice boomed from the shadows.

Dozens of heavily armed men stepped out from behind the rusted containers, raising assault rifles. They weren't wearing Bellini colors. They were Marco’s own loyalists—men he had quietly bought off over the last year.

Teresa had been right. Marco hadn't come alone. He had brought an army.

Luca was completely surrounded, outnumbered five to one.

Marco’s terror instantly vanished, replaced by a cruel, arrogant, triumphant smile.

"You always thought you were smarter than me, Luca," Marco sneered, stepping away from his car and drawing his own weapon. "But you walked right into it. You’re too emotional. You care too much about the people around you."

Marco raised his gun, aiming it at Luca’s head.

"Goodbye, cousin," Marco smiled.

But as Marco squeezed the trigger, a deafening, thunderous roar ripped through the night sky.

It wasn't a gunshot.

It was the sound of a heavy, armored tactical transport vehicle smashing violently through the chain-link fence of the railyard, tearing the metal away like tissue paper.

The vehicle slammed on its brakes, sliding sideways across the gravel, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.