Chapter 3

Mike turned to Anthony. "Alright, go ahead and send everyone downstairs home."

Anthony was still hesitating when Mike spoke again, his tone flat.

"A video of Cain representing the Cartello family will be sent automatically in one minute — to the New York Times, the FBI's internal affairs division, and every one of your competitors."

Anthony lost his composure. "No!"

Mike let out a quiet laugh.

"Seems like you already know your family can't survive a full federal investigation. And with so many witnesses — once the inside of the mob goes public, the other players will tear you apart in no time."

Cold sweat broke out along Anthony's temples.

Mike was right. The mob didn't fear violence. It feared exposure.

But a bribery record involving a federal prosecutor — that could wipe the whole family off the map.

"What do you want?"

Anthony forced the words out through clenched teeth.

Mike looked at him.

"Simple. Go back and tell Giovanni that I'm back. The Costa family only does business with whoever's actually in charge. From now on, every deal goes through him and me directly. You, Anthony, are nothing but a messenger."

Anthony knew it was a flat-out humiliation, but he didn't dare make a move.

Mike had dropped dozens of bodyguards on his own. Who knew how many more were waiting outside?

"On what grounds?" Anthony made one last push.

Mike didn't answer. He just reached over and tapped his phone.

Four stone-faced men walked in at a steady pace, bowed to Mike, and then the one in front — a middle-aged man — stepped forward.

"Sir, the hundred and fifty-two men downstairs have been dealt with. The boys held back from killing anyone, but they were pretty weak — they'll probably need a few days to recover."

Anthony drew a slow breath and forced himself to stay calm.

"Mr. Costa, I'll pass along Giovanni's message about future business."

He stopped fighting it. If he didn't make the smart call right now, he wouldn't even get to keep the title of messenger — and the only thing left in this room would be a body with his name on it.

Mike gave a small nod.

"Good call. Don't worry — unlike Lucas, I'm not the type to stab friends in the back. I'll double your family's business."

Anthony's face stayed hollow.

"I just hope that once you're working with us, you won't keep using this evidence to hold us over a barrel."

Mike laughed softly. The middle-aged man fixed his grey eyes on Anthony.

"Your read on people is really something else. With Mr. Costa's reach, all he'll ever bring you is more resources."

Mike didn't bother responding to Anthony. He turned and walked toward the door.

"Rats in the gutter can only see the next few inches ahead of them. Anyway, to mark my return, that prosecutor on the take will resign for personal reasons within three days. All investigations can be closed."

Mike paused at the exit. "Call it a welcome gift for Giovanni. How's that sound?"

Anthony stood there, still stinging from the humiliation — but quietly exhaling with relief.

Mike had just made the FBI problem disappear with a single sentence.

He didn't look back. He walked straight out of the private room.

The four men in grey followed without a sound.

But the hallway told the story — bodyguards sprawled everywhere, some out cold, some wounded, a quiet sign that New York's night was no longer peaceful.

Somewhere in the distance, an ambulance siren started up. Mike walked straight to Sarah's car waiting at the entrance.

Sarah's hair fell in layered waves of black and purple. When she saw Mike, a sly grin spread across her face.

"All wrapped up?"

Mike dropped into the passenger seat.

"Yeah. Ivan's dead, but Lucas never showed."

"Shame. Your brother sure knows how to stay out of sight."

Mike leaned back and closed his eyes. "Time to go home."

Lucas had probably already gotten the news by now.

Sarah started the engine. The sports car slipped into the night, heading toward Long Island.

---

The Costa Mansion. The study.

Lucas stood at the window, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his face dark.

A few trusted men stood behind him. No one dared say a word.

Five minutes ago, the news came in: The Diamond Club had been hit, Ivan was dead, and more than half the men he'd sent were down.

And the one behind it all was the brother who should have been dead five years ago — Mike.

"He's actually still alive?" Lucas's expression twisted. He slammed the glass down on the table.

"Boss, should we —" one of his men ventured.

"Should we what? Kill him?" Lucas turned around, his eyes cold and sharp. "You think I haven't thought about it? He's got people now. Even Anthony folded. You really think we can just take him out that easily?"

The room went quiet.

Lucas forced himself to think clearly, pacing the study.

He remembered something Giovanni had mentioned a month ago at a private dinner.

The old don of the Brown family was looking for a man to marry into the family for his daughter, Isabella. Giovanni had said offhand, "If your brother were still alive, he'd actually be a good fit. You could use it to move into the Chicago market."

Lucas had brushed it off as small talk at the time.

Now, a plan was slowly taking shape in his mind.

If he couldn't kill Mike, he'd let someone else do it for him.

Isabella was no pushover. Once Mike married into the family, his money and influence would get carved up, his moves would be constrained, and the Browns would quietly absorb everything he had.

And the marriage would crack open the Italian market. The Brown family had connections in Italy — a territory Lucas had been trying to reach for a long time. This would take care of both problems at once.

"Mike." Lucas took a slow sip and said to himself, "Since you're back — let me give you a very special gift."