The maid dropped to her knees and begged me not to kill her three-year-old daughter after finding the child inside the one room no one in my estate was allowed to enter. But when I looked down at the little girl who had covered Chicago’s most feared man with a blanket, I realized she had already done something no gun, threat, or prayer had managed in three years.

The abandoned meatpacking plant on Chicago’s south side reeked of rust, old salt, and cheap cigar smoke. Rain hammered relentlessly against the corrugated tin roof, mimicking the rhythm of an automatic weapon.

I sat at the end of a long wooden table beneath a single hanging lightbulb. Across from me sat Joey Donati—a slick, arrogant thirty-something wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit and a gold pinky ring that sparkled in the dim light. Behind him stood six armed guards, their hands resting noticeably on their waistbands.

“You’re late, Murphy,” Joey said, spitting a toothpick onto the floor. “Used to be the great Murphy Moretti was ten minutes early to every execution. Word on the street is you’ve been hiding in that big mansion of yours, staring at the walls like a ghost.”

I didn't move. I didn't blink. Beside me, Marco adjusted his coat, his hand drifting toward his shoulder harness, but I raised a single finger to hold him back.

“You asked for five minutes, Joey,” I said smoothly, my voice cutting through the sound of the storm overhead. “You have three left. State your business.”

Joey leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Simple. The Donati family wants the north-bound shipping routes. You haven't moved freight through port four in six months. You’re letting millions sit on the water because you’re too busy mourning your dead sister.”

Marco growled, stepping forward, but I raised my hand again. The mention of Sofia’s name used to make my blood boil—it used to push me into a blind, murderous rage that ended with body bags in the river. But tonight, as Joey sneered at me, all I could picture was a pair of wide hazel eyes asking why the rain in my heart made the house cold.

The anger wasn't gone; it had simply turned into something colder, more focused, and infinitely more dangerous.

“Sofia’s name doesn't belong in your mouth, Joey,” I said quietly.

Joey laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Or what? You’re gonna shoot me? Look around, Moretti. You brought two guys. I brought six. The city is changing. The old ways—your ways—are dead. Give us port four, or we take it by force.”

I slowly reached into my breast pocket. Joey’s guards immediately drew their weapons, pointing six silver barrels directly at my chest. Marco drew his own piece, stepping in front of me, but I gently pushed him aside and pulled out a sleek silver cigarette case.

I clicked it open, took out a clove cigarette, and lit it with a heavy Zippo.

“You made three mistakes tonight, Joey,” I said, blowing a thin plume of grey smoke into his face.

Joey’s smile faltered slightly. “Yeah? Name them.”

“First,” I said, hold up one finger. “You assumed my lack of noise meant a lack of strength. Silence isn't weakness, Joey. It’s preparation.”

I held up a second finger. “Second, you brought men who care about your money, while I brought men who care about my family.”

Before Joey could digest that, the shadows along the warehouse walls seemed to move. Out from behind the rusted hanging meat hooks stepped twelve of my top enforcers, silent as shadows, their heavy submachine guns aimed squarely at the back of Joey’s men’s heads. The Donati guards went pale, their hands freezing in place.

“And third,” I whispered, leaning across the table until I was inches from Joey’s sweat-slicked forehead. “You brought up my sister to provoke a beast. But the beast doesn't get angry anymore. It just cleans up trash.”

Joey swallowed hard, his arrogance vanishing in a split second as he realized he was completely surrounded. “Murphy... come on. It was just business talking—”

“Port four stays mine,” I said, standing up and smoothing my lapels. “If I see a single Donati boat within five miles of my shoreline, I won't kill you, Joey. I’ll ruin your father’s empire piece by piece until you’re begging for the mercy I gave you tonight.”

I turned my back on them and walked toward the exit.

“Clear them out, Marco,” I ordered quietly as I crossed the threshold into the pouring rain. “And make sure they leave their weapons behind.”

As I climbed into the back of my armored sedan, the rain slammed against the glass. The driver started the engine, the heater blowing warm air across my face. For three years, I would have ordered the car’s climate control turned down to freezing. I would have bathed in the discomfort to punish myself for being alive while Sofia was underground.

Instead, I reached out and adjusted the dial, letting the heat fill the cabin.