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.

Tony collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, clutching his chest as the blood poured through his fingers.

Bruno erupted into a ferocious, deafening roar, launching himself forward.

"Bruno, no! Stay!" I shouted, extending a sharp hand command.

The Rottweiler skidded to a halt inches from Hector, his teeth bared, saliva flying from his jowls, vibrating with the primal urge to kill the man who had struck my lieutenant.

Hector Vasquez didn't flinch. He stood over Tony, his hands trembling violently, the bloody combat knife gripped so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked entirely deranged, driven by a grief so absolute it had fractured his sanity.

"Hector," I said, my voice dropping to a cautious, calming register, slowly holstering my weapon to show I wasn't an immediate threat. "Put the knife down. You don't want to do this."

"You killed my little girl!" Hector screamed, pointing the bloody blade at me. "Your men killed her! And you tried to buy my forgiveness with a stack of dirty cash!"

"Marco killed your daughter, Hector," I corrected gently, taking a slow step toward him. "And I promised you he would pay. But Tony didn't touch her. Tony has children of his own."

Hector looked down at Tony, who was wheezing, his face turning pale. A flicker of hesitation crossed the grieving father's eyes, a crack in his murderous resolve.

"The voice on the phone," I continued, realizing how the pieces fit together. "The man who stole the ledger. He contacted you, didn't he?"

Hector sobbed, a ragged, ugly sound. "He called me at the funeral home after you left. He told me the truth. He told me Marco was your underboss. He said if I wanted justice, I had to help him secure the ledger."

"He used your grief, Hector," I said softly, closing the distance. "He told you to stab my man while I was distracted on the phone. He used you as a diversion so he could escape with the book."

"He promised me he would destroy your entire family!" Hector cried, dropping the knife. It clattered against the stone patio. He fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. "I just wanted my Elena back."

"I know," I whispered, kicking the knife away.

I dropped to my knees beside Tony, pressing my hands hard over his wound to stem the bleeding.

"Boss," Tony coughed, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "It missed... missed the lung. I think."

"You're going to be fine," I lied, pulling out my phone and dialing my private medical team. "Get a medevac to Marco's estate immediately. Penetrating chest wound."

I hung up and looked at Hector. The man was broken, a pawn sacrificed on a board he didn't even understand.

"Hector," I said firmly, demanding his attention. "The man on the phone. Did he give you a name? Did you see his face?"

Hector shook his head weakly. "No face. It was dark. He wore a mask. But... but he had a strange tattoo on his wrist. When he handed me the knife."

"What kind of tattoo?" I pressed, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"A black snake," Hector whispered. "Wrapped around a broken crown."

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

A black snake wrapped around a broken crown.

It was the insignia of the Coronas Rotas—a ruthless, highly organized cartel operating out of Mexico that had been trying to gain a foothold in New York for five years. I had personally ordered the execution of their top lieutenants to keep them out of my city.

They hadn't retreated. They had simply changed tactics. They had allied with my treacherous sister-in-law, murdered my brother, and stolen my leverage.

And now, they were going to use the ledger to buy the politicians I owned, essentially legally evicting me from my own empire.

The medevac helicopter roared overhead, its spotlight sweeping the patio. Paramedics repelled down, swarming Tony, stabilizing him with practiced efficiency before loading him onto a stretcher.

"I'm sorry, Boss," Tony whispered as they lifted him away. "I didn't see him coming."

"Rest, Tony," I said grimly. "I’ll handle the rest."

I turned back to Hector.

"You have two choices, Hector," I stated coldly. "You can stay here, wait for the police, and go to prison for attempted murder. Or, you can get in my car, and you can help me find the man who used your daughter's death to steal a book."

Hector looked up at me, his eyes hollow but filled with a new, dark resolve.

"I want to kill him," Hector said simply.

"Get in the car," I ordered.

I marched back into the mansion, Bruno at my heels. I bypassed the terrified servants who were cowering in the kitchen and headed straight for the home office.

Marco was still zip-tied to a chair, weeping, his face bruised from where Tony had thrown him.

I grabbed a fistful of Marco’s hair, yanking his head back.

"The Coronas Rotas," I snarled, my voice echoing with lethal intent. "They have the ledger. Where is their local safe house, Marco? You were doing business with them. You owe them money. Where are they?"

"I don't know!" Marco shrieked in pain. "I swear, they always changed locations! It was a blind drop in the alley!"

I pulled a heavy, tactical knife from my belt, pressing the cold steel against Marco’s cheek.

"I am out of patience, Marco," I whispered. "Give me a location, or I start mailing pieces of you to your wife."

"The old meatpacking plant!" Marco screamed, tears streaming down his face. "In the Meatpacking District! The abandoned one on 14th Street! That’s where the cartel holds their high-level meetings! Isabella told me she met them there once!"

I released him, shoving his head forward.

"If you're lying, Marco, I will let Bruno finish his meal," I promised.

I walked out of the house, Bruno padding silently beside me, the dog sensing the imminent violence.

Hector was waiting in the passenger seat of my armored SUV.

I climbed into the driver's seat, threw the vehicle into gear, and tore out of the estate, merging onto the highway toward Manhattan.

"They are highly trained cartel operatives, Hector," I warned as we sped through the night. "They will kill you without hesitation. You stay behind me. You only shoot if you have to."

Hector didn't answer. He just stared blankly out the window, clutching a spare pistol I had handed him from the glovebox.

We reached the Meatpacking District just as a heavy, freezing rain began to fall, washing the cobblestone streets in a slick, dark sheen.

I parked two blocks away from the abandoned plant. The massive, brick building loomed in the darkness, looking entirely empty.

But I knew better.

I signaled for Bruno to stay close. The dog moved with terrifying stealth, his black coat blending perfectly into the shadows.

We crept toward the rusted side entrance of the plant. The heavy iron door was secured with a massive padlock.

I pulled out a pair of bolt cutters from the trunk and snapped the lock with a sharp crunch.

I slowly pulled the door open, stepping into the cavernous, pitch-black interior. The air smelled of old blood, rust, and damp concrete.

I raised my suppressed pistol, sweeping the darkness.

Suddenly, the harsh, blinding glare of industrial floodlights snapped on from the ceiling, illuminating the entire slaughterhouse floor.

I raised my arm to shield my eyes, squinting against the light.

Standing in the center of the massive room, surrounded by dozens of heavily armed cartel enforcers, was a man in a sharp white suit.

He was holding the leather ledger in his hand.

But he wasn't looking at me.

He was looking at the person kneeling on the floor beside him, bound and gagged.

"I knew you’d come for the book, Dante," the man in the white suit laughed, a chilling, synthesized sound. "But I figured I’d need a little extra insurance to make sure you didn't do anything stupid."

The man grabbed the hostage by the hair, hauling them roughly to their feet.

I froze, the breath leaving my lungs in a violent rush.