670lan 2 For 12 years, Luca Costello ruled his empire from a wheelchair, convinced his body had failed him forever. But when a poor maid’s daughter entered his estate and saw what everyone else ignored, she led him toward a shocking discovery: his paralysis was never an accident.

The rain began just as midnight struck, turning the manicured lawns of the Reyes estate into a slick, dark expanse of mud and shadow.

Inside the main study, Luca sat upright in his leather armchair, the desk lamp casting a harsh, yellow pool of light across the room. He had refused the wheelchair. Though his legs were still too weak to carry his weight across the room for long distances, he had managed, with sheer stubborn willpower, to strap heavy medical braces to his thighs and calves, locking his knees into a rigid, upright stance. He stood behind the desk, gripping the edge with white-knuckled intensity, his Browning automatic resting inches from his right hand.

The heavy oak doors didn't pick; they were blown off their hinges with a deafening boom of a breaching charge.

Splintered wood and smoke filled the study. Through the haze, Marcus Vance stepped into the room, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries wearing night-vision goggles and body armor. Marcus held a silenced pistol loosely at his side, a smug, triumphant grin plastered across his face.

"Well, well, well," Marcus drawled, stepping over a shattered mahogany chair leg. "Look at you, Luca. Still trying to play the king, even when the castle is burning down around you."

Luca didn't flinch. He stood tall behind the desk, his massive frame supported by the steel braces hidden beneath his trousers. To Marcus, it looked like Luca was simply sitting in a high-backed chair, but the sharp glint in Luca’s eyes told a different story.

"You're late, Marcus," Luca said, his voice echoing smoothly in the ruined room. "I expected you to try this tomorrow at the warehouse."

"The warehouse is for public consumption, Boss," Marcus laughed, stepping closer, his mercenaries fanning out to secure the exits. "This? This is personal. For twelve years, I ran your empire while you sat here drooling on yourself like an invalid. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to build an empire while bowing to a ghost?"

"You didn't build it, Marcus. You managed it. There's a distinct difference between a CEO and a parasite," Luca replied coldly.

Marcus’s smile faltered, a flash of genuine anger crossing his features. "You arrogant bastard. Even now, with half a dozen guns pointed at your head, you still think you're the smartest man in the room. Where are your little guards? Where is your security detail? Oh, that's right—I bought them off three days ago."

"I know," Luca said calmly.

Marcus stopped. His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"I said, I know," Luca repeated. "I’ve known you were skimming from the eastern docks since 2022, Marcus. I’ve known you were talking to the Outfit since last winter. And I certainly knew you were the one who slipped the neurotoxin into my evening scotch twelve years ago."

Silence descended on the room, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the broken windows. Marcus’s face drained of color for a fraction of a second before hardening into pure venom.

"If you knew... why didn't you do anything?" Marcus whispered.

"Because a dead man can't sign over his assets," Luca said, his hand sliding off the edge of the desk and resting firmly on the grip of the Beretta hidden in his lap. "And because I wanted you to bring every single rat out of the woodwork so I could exterminate them all at once."