Minutes before the State planned to execute my father, the little girl everyone pitied leaned over and whispered in his ear. The guards expected a final goodbye, but whatever I said made a feared former mafia enforcer smile for the first time in five years—and within twenty-four hours, the case that had buried him on death row was beginning to fall apart.

"Drop the gun, Gavin!" Dominic roared, his voice wild, unhinged, high-pitched with frantic adrenaline.

Dominic looked terrible. The polished, suave mob prince who had stood in the courtroom five years ago, smiling as I was sentenced to death, was completely gone. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled, his hands shaking as he held the submachine gun.

I didn't lower my weapon. I kept my Glock locked onto Dominic's forehead, my stance unshakeable, my breathing calm.

"Put the gun down, Dominic," I said softly. "The house is surrounded. Thirty federal marshals are downstairs. Every exit is blocked. Your security team is disarmed or dead."

"I DON'T CARE!" Dominic shrieked, backing away slightly, keeping his gun aimed at me. "I built this empire! I cleared out Marcus Vance! I cleared out YOU! I was supposed to run this city for the next thirty years!"

"You killed a federal prosecutor, Dominic," I said, taking one slow step forward. "You bought off a police detective. And then you tried to murder an innocent man and leave his daughter to rot in state care."

Dominic let out a manic, hysterical laugh. "That brat?! You think I care about your daughter?! I should have buried her in the concrete five years ago along with that flash drive! She was a mistake! A worthless little—"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

I didn't pull the trigger. I didn't need to.

From the hallway behind me, a flashbang grenade bounced once off the mahogany floorboards, landing directly between Dominic’s feet.

BOOM!

A blinding flash of white light and a three-hundred-decibel concussive blast erupted inside the library.

The pressure wave knocked Dominic off his feet, sending his submachine gun spinning across the room. He slammed hard against the desk, screaming in agony, clutching his ears as blood poured from his eardrums, completely disoriented and blinded.

Before he could recover, I stepped forward, grabbed him by his collar, lifted him off the floor, and slammed him face-first onto the heavy oak desk.

I pulled his right arm behind his back, twisting it until the joint popped sharply, pinning him down with my knee against his spine.

"You ever mention my daughter again," I growled into his bleeding ear, "and I won't need a needle to finish you."

Federal tactical officers flooded the library, their rifle lasers sweeping the room.

"CLEAR! ROOM CLEAR!" officers shouted.

Marshal Kane stepped through the door, stepping over Detective Burke, who was weeping quietly on the floor. Kane looked at Dominic pinned under my knee, then looked at me.

"Good work, Gavin," Kane said, pulling out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs and snapping them around Dominic’s wrists. "Federal custody. No bail."

As the officers dragged Dominic and Burke away in chains, Arthur Vance walked into the room. He looked at the interior of the open safe—which contained stacks of ledger books, encrypted hard drives, and millions of dollars in illegal bribe payments documenting thirty years of Moretti crime family operations.

Arthur turned to me, holding out his hand.

"It's over, Gavin," Arthur said, his voice thick with emotion. "The Moretti family is finished. Your name is clear. Permanently."