As one of Los Angeles’ most powerful mafia bosses, I pretended to fly to Canada because I suspected my housekeeper was doing something terrible to my daughters whenever I disappeared on business. Forty-five minutes after secretly returning to my Bel-Air mansion and turning on the hidden cameras, I discovered I had been watching the wrong woman all along, and I walked out of that security room completely pale, looking for my fiancée.

The rain was coming down in sheets over the industrial port of San Pedro, drumming loudly against the rusted metal roofs of the shipping warehouses.

At 9:00 PM, four black armored SUVs sat parked in the dark alleyway between Warehouse 14 and the water's edge, their engines running silently, their lights completely extinguished.

Inside the lead vehicle, I sat in the rear seat, checking the magazine of my silenced submachine gun with practiced, automatic ease.

Beside me, Hector was reviewing the thermal satellite imagery on his laptop.

"There are six men inside Warehouse 14," Hector reported in a low, crisp voice. "All heavily armed. Marcus Moretti’s younger brother, Dominic, arrived twenty minutes ago. Chloe is in the central office on the second floor."

"What are they doing?" I asked, my voice as dark as the storm outside.

"They are transferring digital shipping manifests from Chloe's encrypted drive," Hector explained. "If they upload those manifests to the federal port database, our three main supply routes from Mexico will be seized by customs by midnight."

I locked my weapon into place, looking out the tinted window at the heavy rain slicking the pavement.

Chloe hadn't just tried to abuse my children; she was currently trying to dismantle the empire that protected them. She thought she was escaping with her life and a fat payout from the Morettis. She didn't understand that when you target a man's daughters, there is no corner of the earth far enough to hide.

"Do we wait for backup team two?" Hector asked, hand on the door handle.

"No," I replied smoothly, pulling my collar up against the cold. "Team two secures the perimeter. You and I take the interior. Silent entry until we reach the second floor."

We stepped out into the pouring rain, moving like shadows across the wet asphalt.

The side utility door of Warehouse 14 was locked with a heavy iron latch. Hector pulled a high-grade hydraulic cutter from his tactical vest, sliced through the iron bolt in three seconds with a soft hiss, and pushed the door open.

The air inside smelled of stale sea brine, rust, and diesel fuel. High above, the metal girders creaked under the force of the wind.

Moving through the dark rows of stacked shipping crates, we neutralized the first two Moretti guards before they even knew the door was breached. Hector moved with lethal efficiency, catching the first guard in a chokehold while I dropped the second with a swift, silenced round to the shoulder.

We reached the steel staircase leading up to the second-floor office.

Through the reinforced glass window, I could see Chloe standing beside a heavy oak desk, her dark raincoat wet from the storm, holding a glass of scotch in her shaking hand.

Standing across from her was Dominic Moretti—a tall, sharp-featured man in a five-thousand-dollar leather trench coat, typing rapidly on a laptop connected to a satellite uplink.

"It's done," Dominic’s muffled voice came through the cracked glass door. "The manifest files are ninety percent uploaded. By morning, Alexander Vance will be fighting twenty federal indictments."

Chloe let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh, sipping her scotch. "He thought he was so smart... coming back early from Canada. He treated me like trash in front of his servants!"

"You were trash, Chloe," Dominic replied coldly without looking up from his screen. "You were just expensive bait. Once the upload finishes, my brother will wire your remaining funds, and you can disappear to Europe."

I stepped around the corner of the staircase, pushing the heavy office door open with the tip of my boot.

The hinge creaked softly.

Dominic’s hand darted toward the shoulder holster beneath his leather coat, but before his fingers could touch leather, two suppressed rounds shattered his knee and elbow. He let out a choked scream, slamming hard against the desk, his laptop sliding across the wood and falling onto the floor.

Chloe shrieked, dropping her whiskey glass. It shattered against the concrete floor in a spray of amber liquid and crystal shards.

She backed away into the corner of the office, her eyes bulging in utter, paralyzing terror as I stepped into the light.

I stood in the doorway, my dark coat wet with rain, my submachine gun held low and steady, my face completely devoid of mercy.

"Alexander!" Chloe screamed, her knees buckling as she hit the wall. "Please! He forced me! Dominic forced me to come here!"

Dominic groaned on the floor, clutching his bleeding arm, glaring up at me through gritted teeth. "Vance... you're too late... the upload... it's already done..."

I walked over to the fallen laptop, set my boot on the hard drive, and pressed down with all my weight.

The plastic and aluminum crushed beneath my heel with a sickening crunch, the screen going black instantly as the internal memory board shattered into dust.

"Your satellite uplink was redirected fifteen minutes ago, Dominic," I said softly, looking down at Moretti’s brother. "Your upload went directly to my private server in Bel-Air. The only thing federal authorities will be receiving tomorrow morning is a detailed dossier on your family's illegal port operations in Chicago."

Dominic’s face went completely grey.

I turned my attention to Chloe, who was cowering on the floor, sobbing hysterically, her expensive clothes ruined by dust and floor grease.

"Alexander..." she wept, reaching her hands out in a desperate plea. "Please... remember the two years we spent together! Remember how much I loved you!"

I looked down at her with a profound, icy detachment.

"I remember every lie you told me, Chloe," I whispered softly. "I remember the way you took my daughter's rabbit and threw it onto a shelf. I remember the way you grabbed a six-year-old child by the wrist."

I leaned down, my dark eyes locked onto hers with a terrifying, absolute finality.

"You thought you were entering a life of luxury and power," I rasped. "You forgot that the power you wanted came from a man who destroys his enemies for breakfast. You are going to spend the next twenty years in a federal penitentiary for corporate espionage and syndicate racketeering."