The Mafia Boss Had Never Heard Her Sound So Afraid—And He Was Already on His Way

The Queens distribution warehouse was an imposing brick complex sitting near the edge of the East River, surrounded by chain-link fences, rusty shipping containers, and overgrown weeds.

Night had fallen completely, casting the industrial zone into deep shadow.

Inside the back office—the same office where Rossy had been sitting twenty-four hours earlier—the air was thick with panic.

Rossy was desperately shoving stacks of hundred-dollar bills, fake passports, and encrypted thumb drives into a dark duffel bag. Four heavily armed men in leather jackets stood near the door, nervously checking their automatic weapons.

"Hurry the hell up, Rossy!" one of the guards spat, watching the dark yard outside through a crack in the blinds. "If Carter finds out we helped you copy that security fob, he’s going to skin us alive!"

"Shut up!" Rossy yelled, his face slick with cold sweat. "The Romanos promised us protection! They have a speedboat waiting at the pier behind the yard! Once we cross into New Jersey, Carter can't touch us!"

"You really believe that, Rossy?" a voice echoed from the hallway.

The four guards froze.

The voice hadn't come from a loudspeaker or a radio. It was deep, calm, and sounded as if it were standing right outside the heavy steel door.

Before any of the guards could raise their rifles, the steel door exploded inward with a deafening bang.

A flashbang grenade bounced across the concrete floor, detonating in a blinding eruption of white light and thunderous sound.

The guards screamed, disoriented, clutching their eyes and ears.

Through the smoke, Andrew Carter stepped into the room like an harbinger of death.

He didn't wear tactical gear. He wore his tailored dark suit, moving with terrifying speed and lethal precision.

A suppressed pistol barked four times in rapid succession. Pft. Pft. Pft. Pft.

The four guards dropped to the floor like stones, dead before their bodies hit the concrete.

Rossy dropped his duffel bag, falling to his knees, his hands thrown over his head, sobbing violently. "Andrew! Please! Please, boss, don't kill me! They forced me! The Romanos... they threatened my family!"

Andrew walked slowly across the room, stepping over the fallen guards without looking down. He stopped in front of Rossy, pulling a heavy steel chair out from behind the desk and sitting down calmly in front of the trembling traitor.

Lucas stepped into the room behind him, holding a shotgun, his eyes sweeping the hallway before closing the door.

"You lied to me in this very room last night, Rossy," Andrew said softly, resting his forearms on his knees. "I hate liars. But what I hate even more is a man who targets an innocent woman because he’s too weak to face me himself."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Rossy wept, his face pressed against the dusty concrete floor. "I’ll tell you everything! I’ll tell you where Don Romano keeps his offshore accounts! I’ll give you the names of all the corrupt cops on his payroll!"

"I already have those names," Andrew said flatly. "Cindy found them three hours ago."

Rossy’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes wide with disbelief. "What...?"

"You underestimated her," Andrew whispered, leaning down until his face was inches from Rossy’s. "You thought she was just a pretty assistant in a nice dress. But she’s smarter than you, Rossy. She’s braver than you. And unlike you... she belongs to me."

Andrew stood up, smoothing his jacket. He didn't pull his gun.

"Lucas," Andrew said, walking toward the exit. "Don Romano is waiting at the pier in New Jersey, thinking Rossy is bringing him our security clearance."