Chapter 2

Dozens of bodyguards — the best fighters both families had.

They averaged six and a half feet tall, with arms thicker than most men's thighs. Handguns hidden under black suits. Eyes cold and dead. These were men who had killed before.

Anthony settled back into his seat and lit a cigar.

"Mike," he said, blowing a ring of smoke.

"I'll give you a choice. Jump from that third-floor window. It'll be quicker, and the Costa family keeps its dignity."

Ivan stood behind the bodyguards, his face twisted with cruel satisfaction.

"Five years, Mr. Costa, and you're still this naive."

He shook his head slowly.

"You really think a few accusations are enough to bring down the man running the family? And this is New York — Costa and Cartello territory. You've already been dead for a long time."

Mike scanned the room, then looked straight at Ivan. His voice was calm.

"Ivan, do you remember what the old boss taught us?"

Ivan frowned and started to speak. Mike raised his wrist and glanced at his watch.

"First rule of the mob: never show your hand."

A sharp click. Every light in the room went out. His people moved.

The bodyguards froze for just a second.

That was enough. Mike lunged at the nearest one.

His left hand locked around the man's neck. His right hand pulled the gun from the man's hip, twisted his wrist sharply upward — and the big man's spine snapped.

He squeezed the trigger. The bodyguard beside the first one dropped.

Two men down in a single breath.

Mike spun. He fired into the open mouth of a bodyguard charging at him, blowing half the man's jaw clean off.

Two more shots — left, then right — both knees shattered with perfect precision.

The screaming came one after another.

Mike stood still, tilting his head slightly toward Ivan, who was being shielded behind the remaining bodyguards.

"Ivan, I remember my father taught us to reason with people. But these five years, all I've learned is to answer blood with blood."

The body with half its face caved in lay right at Ivan's feet. Blood was soaking into his shoes.

After about ten seconds of chaos, the surviving bodyguards regrouped, pressing back to back, forming a wall around Ivan and Anthony. They raised their guns, fingers on the triggers, scanning the darkness for Mike.

"Put them down."

A cold voice came from the doorway.

The door swung open, and light spilled in, finally making the room visible.

The bodyguards snapped toward the entrance.

Four men in grey suits were standing there — no one had noticed when they arrived. Guns in hand, aimed straight at them.

At the same moment, the window glass shattered from outside. Two more men in the same grey suits dropped into the room.

"You're surrounded. Anyone still feeling brave?"

The man leading the grey suits said it without any warmth.

Mike alone had taken out several of them in seconds. Now there were six more backing him up, and every one of those six had the same dead-eyed look Mike had. The bodyguards slowly lowered their guns. They were hired muscle — no paycheck was worth dying for, especially not against opponents like these.

Mike stepped out from the shadows in the corner and walked straight through the grey-suited men toward Ivan and Anthony.

One bodyguard instinctively moved to block him. The man behind Mike barely lifted his barrel — and the bodyguard's throat was punched through with a clean shot.

The rest froze. They dropped their guns and cleared a path.

Mike stopped in front of Ivan. His voice stayed even.

"Ivan. You always did like hiding behind other people."

Ivan's lips trembled. He forced the words out.

"Mike — I work for your brother. You kill me, he won't let this go..."

Mike raised his arm. The barrel pressed against Ivan's forehead. He turned and looked at Anthony.

"Still waiting for the hundred-plus men downstairs to come save you?"

Anthony's face went stone cold.

Mike kept talking.

"Sorry. My people are already here. Nobody downstairs is coming up."

Ivan and Anthony looked at the grey-suited men. They had no idea when the club had been surrounded.

"...You win."

Anthony ground the words out through his teeth.

But at that moment, Mike pulled the gun back from Ivan's forehead.

He stepped back twice, took out his phone, and turned the screen toward Anthony and Ivan.

"I told you — I reason with people."

A video was playing.

It was Anthony's personal assistant, Cain, handing a briefcase of cash to a federal prosecutor.

"This is a gesture of goodwill from the Cartello family. We hope you'll ease up on the port smuggling investigation... Our godfather guarantees no less than fifty million a year. And there's also this..."

On screen, Cain handed the prosecutor a black gemstone ring. On the inside band: the Cartello family crest and the name Giovanni.

"This is our godfather's personal token. The Cartello family is very serious about this partnership. If you ever need a favor, bring this ring — and the family owes you one."

Anthony's pupils shrank. The cash was one thing, but that ring — Giovanni Cartello never took it off. It carried the godfather's authority.

"Impossible." He shot to his feet.

"Hold on. There's more."

Mike swiped the screen.

The next clip was from a private room in an underground casino. Lucas was clinking glasses with a group of Russian mob representatives.

"A thirty percent stake in the Brooklyn docks is just the beginning. Help me take the construction union, and I'll hand over three Cartello warehouses in Brooklyn — plus their full smuggling routes."

One of the Russians laughed. "We love working with a fox like you, Lucas. You're playing nice with the Cartellos on the surface, but you're actually selling them out. Ha!"

Lucas raised his glass again.

"That idiot Anthony actually thinks I'd split New York with his family. Once I use you to swallow his turf, the Costas and the Russian brotherhood will be the ones running this city."

The vein in Ivan's temple pulsed. He turned to look at Anthony. His breathing went fast and shallow with fear.

Anthony's eyes burned with rage — the look he gave Ivan made no effort to hide that he wanted him dead.

"Now I get why Lucas didn't show today. Sent someone to watch me instead. Guilty conscience."

Ivan had gone white. His lips were shaking.

Mike put his phone away. His voice was flat.

"Lucas betrayed his family for power. He even had his own father killed. And you, Ivan — you helped him do it."

Ivan's lips trembled like he wanted to say something.

Mike didn't give him the chance.

He raised his arm and fired.

The shot cracked through the room. A hole opened in the center of Ivan's forehead. His body fell backward and hit the floor hard.

Dead silence.

Mike holstered his gun. His tone was ice.

"Tell Lucas I'm back. Tell him to stay home and wait for me."