Dante Moretti had killed three men before his twenty-fifth birthday. By forty-two he had stopped counting, which was not the same thing as having lost track.

The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of laughter and sugar inside the small apartment. Four girls from Lily’s school came over, their eyes popping in awe at the magnificent castle cake resting on the small kitchen table. Rosa watched her daughter laugh, her heart overflowing with a gratitude she didn't know how to express. She kept looking at the window, wondering who could have sent such a gift. Matteo had been gone for eight years, and most of his family had moved away or broken contact long ago.

By six in the evening, the guests had left, and the apartment grew quiet. Lily sat on the living room rug, happily drawing in her new sketchbook with the professional markers, the giant stuffed bear resting behind her like a soft bodyguard.

Rosa stood at the kitchen sink, washing the paper plates, when the light in the hallway outside flickered and went out.

A sudden, sharp knock echoed against the thin wooden door.

Rosa paused, turning off the faucet. "Who is it?"

Silence answered her from the hallway.

Rosa picked up a small kitchen knife, her instincts as a police officer's widow kicking in instantly. She crept toward the door, peeking through the brass peephole. The hallway outside was pitch black; someone had unscrewed the overhead bulb.

"Rosa," a raspy, deep voice murmured from the other side of the door. "Open up. We need to talk about Matteo's debt."

Rosa’s blood ran cold. "Matteo doesn't owe anyone anything! He's been dead for eight years! Get away from my door or I’m calling the police!"

"The police don't care about you, Rosa," the voice sneered, followed by the heavy thud of a shoulder slam against the wooden frame. The lock groaned under the pressure. "Your husband took something that belongs to Sal Falcone's estate. A red leather book. Tell me where it is, or I tear this apartment apart with you and the kid inside it!"

Inside the living room, Lily dropped her markers, her big eyes filling with terror. "Mama?"

"Lily, go into the bedroom! Lock the door and don't come out!" Rosa screamed, backing away from the front door as another violent blow rattled the hinges. The wood began to splinter near the deadbolt.

Jimmy Vance threw his weight against the door a third time, snapping the lock completely. The door burst open, swinging wildly on its hinges, revealing three heavy-set men standing in the dark hallway holding iron bars and suppressed handguns.

"You should have just opened the door, sweetheart," Jimmy Vance growled, stepping into the apartment, a cruel grin spreading across his scarred face.

Before he could take a second step, a loud, metallic CLANG echoed from the stairwell behind him, followed by the wet, sickening thud of a body hitting the concrete floor.

Vance turned around rapidly, raising his pistol. "What the hell—"

A shadow moved with terrifying speed out of the dark hallway. A large hand grabbed Vance’s gun wrist, twisting it upward until the bone snapped with a sound like a dry twig. Vance screamed in agony, dropping the weapon as he was hurled violently against the wall.

The two other enforcers tried to react, but Marcus stepped out of the shadows, slamming a heavy steel tactical baton into the knee of the second man, dropping him instantly to his knees. The third man was lifted entirely off his feet by a massive arm wrapping around his throat, choking off his air in seconds until his eyes rolled back and he collapsed unconscious onto the carpet.

Rosa stood frozen in her kitchen, holding the small knife, her chest heaving in absolute shock.

A tall man in a tailored dark suit stepped through her broken doorway. He didn't look like a cop, and he certainly didn't look like a mugger. He moved with the quiet, effortless grace of an absolute predator, his presence completely dominating the small room.