Bruno had never growled at one of his master’s men, but during the small girl's burial ceremony, he he promptly placed himself right between the casket and my most relied-upon lieutenant.

My brother, Carlo.

The name hit me like a physical blow to the ribs. Carlo had been exiled to Miami three years ago for skimming from the construction unions. He was supposed to stay out of New York. He was supposed to stay out of my business.

"Carlo is in Florida," I stated, rejecting the information.

"The plate doesn't lie, Boss," Tony said quietly, showing me the screen. "And the GPS tracker shows the car hasn't moved from a long-term parking garage near JFK airport for two days."

I turned back to Marco. The underboss was shaking so violently his knees were buckling.

"You said you were meeting Russians," I growled, grabbing Marco by the lapels of his expensive suit. "Why was my brother's car in that alley?"

"I don't know!" Marco shrieked, batting at my hands. "I swear to God, Dante, I thought it was the Russians! The text messages came from a burner phone! They told me to drop the cash!"

Marco wasn't lying. His terror was too authentic. He had been extorted, but not by a rival syndicate. He was being extorted by my own blood.

"We are going to that parking garage," I ordered, releasing Marco and pushing him toward Tony. "Tony, secure him. If he tries to run, shoot him in the leg. Hector..."

I turned to the grieving father. I pulled a thick wad of cash from my pocket—clean, legitimate money I kept for emergencies—and pressed it into his trembling hands.

"Bury your daughter with dignity," I said softly. "Your debt to me is forgiven. And I promise you, whoever orchestrated this will pay with their life."

Hector clutched the money, dropping to his knees beside the coffin, weeping openly.

Bruno lingered for a moment, licking Hector’s hand once, before trotting to my side. The dog knew the mourning was over. It was time to hunt.

We drove in silence to the parking garage near JFK. The tension in the SUV was thick enough to cut with a knife. Marco sat in the back, sweating profusely, while Bruno watched him with unblinking, predatory eyes.

We found the black sedan parked on the fourth floor, tucked away in a dark corner.

"Check the perimeter," I told Tony.

Tony swept the area, his gun drawn. "Clear."

I walked up to the car. The windows were heavily tinted. I peered through the windshield, but the interior was empty.

Bruno, however, wasn't interested in the windows.

The Rottweiler walked directly to the rear of the vehicle, sniffing frantically at the seam of the trunk. He let out a sharp, distressed bark and began scratching at the metal.

"Pop the trunk," I ordered.

Tony used a specialized tool to force the lock. With a heavy metallic click, the trunk popped open, rising slowly on its hydraulic hinges.

The smell hit us first. The sickly-sweet, unmistakable stench of copper and decay.

Marco gagged, covering his mouth and turning away.

I stared into the trunk, my stomach churning violently.

It wasn't a stash of stolen money. It wasn't weapons.

Lying curled in the trunk, soaked in dried blood, was my brother, Carlo. He had been shot twice in the chest.

"Jesus," Tony breathed, lowering his gun. "He’s been dead for days."

I stared at my brother's lifeless body. The anger I felt toward him for his past betrayals vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating demand for vengeance. Someone had murdered my blood and tried to frame a hit-and-run around it.

"He didn't set up the extortion," I realized aloud, piecing the puzzle together. "Someone killed Carlo, took his car, and used his phone to extort Marco."

"But who?" Tony asked, scanning the dark garage.

I leaned closer to Carlo’s body. His hands were bound with zip ties, but his right hand was clenched in a tight, desperate fist. rigor mortis had set in, but I forced his fingers open.

Resting in his palm was a heavy, silver locket. The chain was broken, as if Carlo had ripped it from his attacker's neck during a struggle.

I picked up the locket and pried it open.

Inside was a photograph of a beautiful woman with striking green eyes.

Tony leaned over my shoulder, looking at the picture. He gasped.