The Mafia Boss had already signed the divorce papers when he overheard his wife confess why she had spent three years pretending to hate him.

The sky over the Hudson River was a dark, bruised purple as dawn approached at 5:45 AM.

A black Mercedes Maybach pulled out of the underground garage of the Rinaldi penthouse, turning onto the quiet, snow-dusted streets toward the highway leading to Teterboro Airport.

Inside the rear cabin sat a female security decoy wearing a long dark wig and a high-collared coat identical to Elena’s, flanked by two heavily armed tactical guards.

Two miles behind them, monitoring the live GPS feed from an unmarked SUV, sat Don Vicenzo.

Vicenzo held a secure satellite phone to his ear. “They just entered the lower ramp of the highway, Don Antonio. The girl is inside the Maybach. Matteo is still asleep in his penthouse, completely unaware.”

On the other end of the line, Antonio Moretti chuckled darkly from his hotel suite. “Good work, Vicenzo. My boys from Marseilles are waiting at the mile marker twelve overpass. Once they secure the girl, execute the secondary team at Matteo’s penthouse. I want him dead before breakfast.”

“Understood, Boss,” Vicenzo said, a greedy smile spreading across his face.

The Maybach rolled steadily under the shadow of the mile marker twelve concrete overpass.

Suddenly, two heavy armored delivery trucks slammed out of the side ramps, blocking the front and rear of the highway. Six men in tactical gear poured out of the trucks, weapons raised, moving aggressively toward the Maybach.

“MOVE! BREAK THE GLASS! SECURE THE FEMALE!” the team leader shouted in French.

The lead operative slammed a breaching hammer against the Maybach’s rear window.

BANG!

The reinforced ballistic glass didn't shatter. Instead, the Maybach’s side doors exploded outward with hydraulic force, throwing three operatives onto the asphalt.

Heavy tactical guards in full Class IV body armor surged out of the vehicle, suppressed automatic weapons roaring in the dim morning light.

PFT-PFT-PFT-PFT!

Before the Marseilles mercenaries could react, four of them were down on the pavement, neutralized by precise, non-lethal head-and-chest bursts.

Simultaneously, four black armored SUVs swarmed down from the upper ramps, completely boxing in Vicenzo’s trailing vehicle.

Vicenzo screamed in terror as Marco personally kicked the door of his SUV open, reaching inside, grabbing the old traitor by his expensive lapels, and dragging him out onto the frozen pavement.

Marco jammed the warm barrel of his pistol under Vicenzo’s chin.

“Don Antonio sends his regards, Uncle Vicenzo,” Marco sneered.

Vicenzo’s eyes went wild with terror as he realized the trap had snapped shut. “Marco! Wait! I was forced! Moretti threatened my family!”

Marco pulled out a satellite radio, clicking the button. “Boss. The highway team is neutralized. Vicenzo is in cuffs. The target track is clear.”