778 Mafia boss Dominic Vale spent an entire year searching for the wife and son he believed he had lost forever. But just moments after a barefoot little girl led him to them, someone he had trusted for decades tried to poison him—revealing that the reunion was only the first step in a deadly betrayal inside his own empire.

The Grand Plaza Hotel rose thirty stories above the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan.

The top-floor ballroom was decorated in black velvet and crystal chandeliers. Sitting around a massive oval table were seven of the most powerful Mafia bosses on the East Coast, surrounded by their respective bodyguards. The air was thick with smoke, tension, and the quiet clinking of whiskey glasses.

At the head of the table sat my wheelchair. I was draped in a dark wool coat, my head slumping slightly, pretending to struggle for breath.

Silas stood at my right hand, wearing a tailored black suit, leaning over the table with a look of practiced sorrow.

"Gentlemen," Silas announced, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall. "Thank you for gathering on such short notice. As you can see, Don Dominic Vale has suffered a severe medical tragedy. An unknown assassin poisoned him three days ago. Though he survived, his mind is shattered. He can no longer lead the Vale empire."

A wave of hushed murmurs swept through the room. Don Moretti, the oldest boss at the table, leaned forward, his heavy brows furrowing.

"If Dominic is incapacitated, Silas, who takes command of the Brooklyn territory?" Moretti asked sharply.

Silas pulled a thick stack of legal documents from his coat pocket, slamming them onto the polished wood. "Under the Vale charter, in the event of the Don's incapacity, leadership passes to the senior advisor. I have already secured the signatures of the key department heads. Starting tonight, I am the acting Don of the Vale network."

"Is that so?"

The voice did not come from a whisper. It rang out like a gunshot.

I stood up from the wheelchair.

I threw off the wool blanket, straightening my posture to my full six-foot-two height. I unbuttoned my suit jacket, revealing my shoulder holster, my eyes locked onto Silas with absolute, lethal clarity.

The entire ballroom gasped. Silas took a sharp step back, his face draining of every drop of color.