"They beat my housekeeper nearly unconscious because she wore my family crest, then left her bleeding in the rain as a warning to me. But the men who attacked Emma Carter made one fatal mistake: they thought hurting someone under my protection would frighten me.

Everything happened in the span of two seconds.

Kolov raised the chrome revolver, pointing it directly at my chest.

“DOMINIC!” Marco shouted, moving to draw his weapon.

But I was already moving.

Three years of quiet diplomacy had not erased ten years of surviving street combat in the Five Boroughs.

Before Kolov could pull the trigger, I lunged across the mahogany table, grabbing his wrist with my left hand and driving his gun barrel upward toward the high ceiling.

BANG.

A bullet blew a hole through the plaster chandelier above, showering crystal shards across the oak table.

I drove my right elbow straight into Kolov’s jaw with brutal, bone-crushing force. His head snapped back, his eyes rolling into his head as his teeth cut through his tongue.

I twisted his wrist violently, tearing the snub-nosed revolver from his grip, and kicked his legs out from beneath him.

Kolov hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, gasping for air as blood poured from his mouth.

His two Russian bodyguards reached for their weapons, but Marco and Antonio were faster. Two muffled gunshots rang out through the room. Both bodyguards collapsed to the floor, disarmed and neutralized before they could draw their sidearms.

Silence returned to the summit room, broken only by Kolov’s ragged, bloody gasps on the rug.

Don Moretti sat back in his chair, shaking his head slowly as he looked down at the bleeding Russian boss on the floor.

“You brought a gun into the St. Regis, Viktor,” Moretti said softly, shaking his head. “You have forfeited your seat on the Commission. You have forfeited your turf.”

Moretti looked up at me, offering a subtle, respectful nod.

“The Castellano family has the right of retribution,” Moretti announced formally. “The Commission will not interfere.”

I stood over Viktor Kolov, holding his chrome revolver in my hand. I looked down at the man who had ordered Emma to be beaten in the rain—the man who had thought he could use a quiet, innocent woman to make me feel afraid.

Kolov looked up at me through his bloody, swollen eyes, trembling violently as he realized that no one in New York was coming to save him.

“Castellano...” Kolov wheezed, blood spurting from his mouth. “Please... mercy...”

“You didn't show mercy to Emma Carter when she was lying in the rain, Viktor,” I whispered softly.

I leaned down, placing the barrel of his own revolver against his chest, right over his heart.