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.

The industrial lights buzzed overhead, casting long, menacing shadows across the slaughterhouse floor.

I stared at Sofia. Her school uniform was torn, her face bruised, but her dark eyes—so much like her mother’s—burned with a fierce, defiant anger that made my chest ache with pride and terror. She wasn't crying. She was glaring at the man holding her.

"Let her go, Silas," I commanded, my voice echoing through the cavernous space. I didn't raise my gun. I couldn't risk a stray bullet.

The man in the white suit, Silas, smiled thinly. He was the head of the Coronas Rotas east coast operation.

"You recognize me, Dante?" Silas mocked, tracing the edge of the leather ledger. "I’m flattered. I thought I was just a ghost in your territory."

"You're a dead man if you hurt her," I stated, stepping slowly into the light. Bruno walked at my side, a low, continuous rumble of lethal intent vibrating from his chest. The dog knew Sofia. He had slept at the foot of her bed when she was a toddler. His aggression was now focused entirely on the man holding her captive.

"I don't intend to hurt her," Silas reasoned smoothly. "She is simply the collateral I need to ensure a peaceful transition of power. You have ruled New York for a long time, Dante. But you’ve grown sentimental. Sparing the grieving father? Keeping a treacherous underboss alive? It’s weak."

He tossed the ledger onto a rusted metal table.

"This book gives me the politicians," Silas declared. "But I need the territory. I want your ports. I want your union contacts. Sign them over to me tonight, and your daughter walks out of here."

"And if I refuse?" I asked, testing the waters.

"If you refuse, I send her back to Mexico in a shipping container," Silas promised, his voice devoid of mercy. "And I use the ledger to direct the FBI to dismantle whatever is left of your empire."

I looked around the room. Twelve heavily armed men. High ground advantage on the catwalks above. It was a tactical nightmare.

I slowly raised my hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Fine," I conceded, lowering my weapon to the concrete floor. "You win, Silas. Give me the transfer papers. I’ll sign."

Silas chuckled, a victorious, arrogant sound. He gestured to one of his men to bring forward a briefcase containing the legal documents.

"A wise choice, Dante," Silas gloated. "Family always was your weak point."

As the enforcer approached me with the briefcase, I subtly shifted my weight, catching Hector’s eye in the shadows near the doorway. Hector was trembling, his gun held loosely at his side, terrified by the overwhelming odds.

I gave him a microscopic, nearly imperceptible nod toward the catwalks.

Hector didn't hesitate. Grief had burned away his fear.

With a feral, desperate scream, Hector raised his pistol and fired wildly at the enforcers stationed on the metal catwalks above us.

The element of surprise was absolute. Hector’s chaotic gunfire didn't hit anyone, but it forced the cartel snipers to duck for cover, raining sparks and shattered glass down onto the slaughterhouse floor.

"Kill him!" Silas roared, momentarily distracted by the sudden attack.

That was the only opening I needed.

"Bruno! Fass!" I commanded, issuing the German attack order I hadn't used in five years.

The Rottweiler exploded forward like a furry missile. He bypassed the armed enforcers, launching himself directly at the man holding my daughter.

Bruno’s jaws clamped violently onto Silas’s forearm, the bone-crushing bite tearing through the expensive white suit.

Silas screamed in agony, dropping Sofia and staggering backward, desperately trying to shake the massive dog off his arm.

I didn't reach for my gun on the floor. I sprinted toward Sofia, grabbing her arm and shoving her violently behind a heavy, rusted meat-packing machine for cover.

"Stay down, Sofie!" I yelled over the deafening eruption of gunfire.

The cartel enforcers recovered quickly, turning their weapons on me. Bullets chewed through the concrete and rusted metal around us.

I drew a secondary, smaller backup pistol from my ankle holster and returned fire, dropping the enforcer who had brought the briefcase.

"Hector, get out of here!" I shouted toward the doorway, but Hector wasn't retreating.

The grieving father was advancing, firing methodically, drawing the attention of the heavily armed men away from me and Sofia. He was sacrificing himself to buy us time.

"For Elena!" Hector wept, taking a bullet to the shoulder, but continuing to fire until his magazine was empty. He collapsed behind a concrete pillar, bleeding heavily.

I leaned out from cover, firing precise, calculated shots, taking down three more enforcers. But I was pinned down. I couldn't reach Silas or the ledger.

Silas, bleeding profusely from his mangled arm, managed to pull a combat knife with his free hand and stabbed Bruno brutally in the side.

The dog yelped in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Silas to break free.

Bruno collapsed onto the concrete, whimpering, blood staining his dark coat.

"No! Bruno!" Sofia screamed, trying to run to the dog, but I held her back tightly.

Silas stumbled toward the metal table, grabbing the ledger with his good hand. He looked at me, pure, unadulterated hatred contorting his features.

"You’re dead, Dante!" Silas spat, backing toward a heavy steel service elevator at the rear of the plant. "I have the book! I have the city!"

He signaled his remaining men to provide covering fire as he retreated into the elevator.

I couldn't let him leave with the ledger. If he escaped, the war would never end.

I broke from cover, sprinting through the hail of bullets, aiming my pistol at Silas.

But I was out of ammunition. The slide locked back with a hollow click.

Silas saw it. He grinned, raising his own weapon, aiming directly at my chest as the elevator doors began to close.

"Goodbye, King of New York," Silas sneered.

Before he could pull the trigger, a figure stepped out from the shadows inside the elevator behind him.

A hand reached around Silas’s throat, a silken wire pulling taut with lethal, horrifying speed.

Silas gagged, dropping the ledger and his gun, his hands flying to his neck as the wire sliced into his windpipe.

The figure stepped into the light as the elevator doors closed halfway, jamming against Silas’s thrashing body.

It was Tony.

My lieutenant, pale, bleeding through a hasty bandage on his chest, but very much alive.

"Nobody shoots the Boss but me," Tony rasped, tightening the wire until Silas’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, lifeless, onto the floor of the elevator.

Tony kicked Silas’s body out of the way, picked up the leather ledger, and tossed it casually onto the concrete floor outside the elevator.