A ruthless mafia boss stopped in his tracks when a starving dog refused to let him get near a little girl sleeping on a pile of trash. Seconds later, the child whispered that her dying father had sent her to find the one man the entire city feared—and what she pulled from beneath her sweater changed that feared criminal's life forever.

The snow was falling in heavy, thick sheets when four black armored trucks pulled up outside the glass high-rise in the financial district.

My men bypassed the building’s security system in less than two minutes. The elevator rose silently to the forty-fifth floor—the penthouse suite belonging to Silas.

The heavy steel door was breached with a quiet hydraulic pop. We stepped into the sprawling apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the glowing skyline of the snow-covered city.

Silas sat at his mahogany desk in his silk robe, a glass of scotch in his hand, a open laptop glowing on the wood. He didn't look surprised when my men flooded the room, their red laser sights dotting his chest.

“I wondered how long it would take you, Julian,” Silas said, taking a calm sip from his glass.

I walked over to the desk, stepping over the expensive Persian rug. I leaned down, placing both hands on the edge of his desk, looking straight into his eyes.

“Six years, Silas,” I said. “You sat at my dinner table. You drank my wine. And all the while, you were selling my family to Cassian Vance.”

Silas chuckled bitterly, setting his glass down. “Your family? You built an empire on blood, Julian! You made millions while the rest of us took all the risks! Cassian offered me thirty percent of the eastern dock revenues. You offered me a salary.”

“Where is Dominic?” I asked, ignoring his excuses.

“He’s at the old ironworks,” Silas scoffed, leaning back in his leather armchair. “Cassian has been interrogating him for thirty-six hours. He wants the access codes to your offshore accounts—the ones Dominic stole six years ago. But Dominic is stubborn. He hasn't said a word.”

Silas smiled, a sick, arrogant grin spreading across his face. “It doesn’t matter anyway, Julian. Cassian knows you have the kid now. He’s already moving two hundred mercenaries to the ironworks. By morning, he’s going to flatten your compound and take this city for himself.”

I didn't argue. I didn't yell.

I reached out, grabbed Silas by his silk lapels, and dragged him across the desk, scattering his laptop and scotch glass onto the floor. I yanked him toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

“Marcus,” I said.

Marcus stepped forward with a heavy steel briefcase, opening it to reveal a portable satellite uplink.

“Call Cassian,” I told Silas, pressing his face against the cold glass overlooking the four-hundred-foot drop. “Tell him I’m coming for my brother. Tell him to bring every man he has.”