Emma Frost caught the plate before it shattered. She was too late to stop the pasta.

The abandoned textile warehouse near the South Side canal towered like a jagged black tooth against the stormy night sky.

Rain poured from rusted gutters, cascading into the murky brown water of the canal below. Inside, the air smelled of mold, diesel fuel, and damp concrete.

In the center of the cavernous floor, tied to two wooden chairs beneath a single flickering lightbulb, were Wanda and Coraly Frost. Wanda’s face was bruised, her hair wild; Coraly was sobbing hysterically, her mascara smeared across her cheeks.

Standing above them, holding a heavy silver revolver, was Marco Vain—a broad, scarred man wearing a leather coat, his eyes filled with twitchy, desperate rage. Surrounding him were six armed men.

“She’s not coming, Marco!” Wanda whimpered, her voice raspy. “Emma hates us! She won't come for us!”

“Shut up, old woman!” Marco spat, striking the side of Wanda’s chair with the butt of his gun. “She’ll come! She thinks she’s a saint! Saints always come to get slaughtered!”

Suddenly, the heavy iron doors of the warehouse blew inward with a deafening CRACK.

The metallic bang echoed through the steel rafters as glass shattered across the concrete floor.

Before Marco’s men could draw their weapons, four flashbang grenades bounced across the floor, exploding in a blinding flash of white light and thunderous booms.

Shouts and gunfire erupted in the dark, but it was not chaotic; it was surgical.

Gideon Marsh and six men in unmarked tactical gear moved through the shadows like phantoms. Within ninety seconds, all six of Marco’s enforcers were disarmed and forced to their knees on the wet floor, staring down the barrels of suppressed rifles.

Marco panicked. He grabbed Coraly by her hair, pulling her up as a human shield, pressing the silver revolver against her temple.

“Stay back!” Marco screamed, his eyes rolling wildly. “I’ll blow her head off! I swear to God I’ll kill her!”

The smoke from the flashbangs cleared slowly.

Walking through the shattered iron doors, completely unbothered by the rain blowing in behind him, was Oliver Falcone. He wore his charcoal overcoat, his hands resting casually in his pockets.

Beside him walked Emma.

Coraly gasped through her tears. “Emma!”

Marco pressed the gun harder against Coraly’s head. “Step back, Falcone! Give me safe passage out of the city and one million dollars, or your waitress gets her sister’s brains on her shoes!”

Oliver stopped ten feet away. He didn't look at Marco’s gun. He didn't look at Coraly. He looked at Marco’s eyes.

“You are making a tactical error, Marco,” Oliver said smoothly, his voice as calm as if he were discussing a wine list. “You believe that woman is my weakness.”

Oliver stepped aside, allowing Emma to step forward.

Emma looked at her sister, who was trembling in fear. Then she looked at Marco Vain.

“My sister lied to me tonight,” Emma said, her voice clear and ringing in the silent warehouse. “She called me to lure me to my death. She thought my life was worth less than her own safety.”

Coraly sobbed, closing her eyes in shame. “Emma... I’m sorry... he said he’d kill Mom...”

“I know,” Emma said softly. Then her gaze shifted to Marco, turning cold and sharp as diamond. “But my mother and sister are under my protection. And anyone who touches my family answers to me.”

Before Marco could comprehend her words, Gideon stepped out from behind a concrete pillar behind Marco. With one swift, brutal strike of his baton, Gideon shattered Marco’s right wrist.

The silver revolver clattered to the concrete floor.

Marco screamed in agony, falling to his knees as Coraly broke free, running toward Emma and collapsing onto the wet floor at her feet.

Oliver stepped forward, casually kicking the revolver into the canal water below. He looked down at Marco Vain with pure, unadulterated coldness.

“Your sister Priscilla stole from my mother’s restaurant,” Oliver said quietly. “You threatened my general manager. Your family’s business in Chicago is officially concluded.”

He signaled to Gideon. “Take them to the federal marshals. Make sure Marco’s statement regarding his human trafficking network is thoroughly documented.”

Gideon grabbed Marco by the collar, dragging him away into the dark.

Emma knelt on the floor, untying the ropes binding her mother’s hands. Wanda looked up at her daughter, tears streaming down her bruised face, unable to speak. For the first time in her life, Wanda Frost looked at her eldest daughter not as a source of money, but with profound, humbled awe.

“Can you walk, Mom?” Emma asked gently.