Mia pressed the plastic silver disc against Antonio Moretti’s chest. “Are you hurt, mister?”

The Brooklyn Navy Yard was a graveyard of rusted iron, decaying shipping containers, and overgrown weeds. Warehouse Forty-Two sat at the very edge of Pier 9—a massive, corrugated steel structure with broken skylights and a single rusted sliding door standing halfway open.

Antonio pulled the Dodge Charger into the gravel lot, cutting the engine. The silence that followed was suffocating.

"Stay in the car until Marco’s men secure the perimeter," Antonio ordered, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Antonio," Elena called out, grabbing his sleeve before he could open the door.

He looked back at her.

"Bring her back," Elena whispered, her eyes shining with desperate trust.

Antonio reached out, his hand gently cupping the side of her neck for one brief, profound second. "On my life, Elena."

He stepped out into the cold sea breeze, racking the slide of his primary firearm, and walked slowly toward the open sliding door of the warehouse.

Inside, the warehouse was vast, dark, and filled with towering stacks of wooden cargo crates. Shadows stretched long across the concrete floor. In the center of the room, illuminated by a single industrial spotlight hanging from the high ceiling, sat a wooden chair.

Tied to the chair with thick nylon rope was three-year-old Mia. Her plastic stethoscope was gone, her small red shoes were covered in dust, but she wasn't crying. She was clutching Biscuit the stuffed bear tightly in her lap, her eyes wide as she looked around the dark room.

Standing directly behind her chair was Damian Moretti, holding a silenced pistol lowered at his side. Standing to his left was Vittorio Costa, surrounded by eight heavily armed syndicate mercenaries.

"You're five minutes early, cousin," Damian called out, his voice echoing loudly off the metal rafters.

Antonio walked into the circle of light, stopping twenty feet from the chair. He didn't look at Costa. He didn't look at the mercenaries. His eyes went straight to his cousin.

"Damian," Antonio said, his voice flat and deadly. "Unbind the child."

"I don't think so, Antonio," Damian chuckled, stepping around the chair to stand right beside Mia. "You see, this little girl opened a door you were supposed to keep locked forever. You were supposed to rot in that mansion, consumed by guilt, until I took everything from you."

Mia looked up, spotting Antonio standing in the light. "Mister!" she called out happily, her little voice cutting through the tense air like a beam of pure sunshine. "I saved Biscuit!"

Antonio felt a sharp tug at his heart, but he kept his expression frozen in stone. "I see him, Mia. You did a good job. Stay very still for me, okay?"

"Okay!" Mia nodded obediently, tucking her head down into the bear's plush fur.

"How long, Damian?" Antonio asked, taking one slow step forward. "How long were you working with Costa?"

"Since before your father died!" Damian spat, his calm demeanor finally breaking, revealing the ugly, bitter jealousy that had rotted inside him for decades. "You were always the favorite! The golden prince of the Moretti name! I did all the dirty work on the streets, but your father handed YOU the throne!"

"So you killed my son?" Antonio whispered, his dark eyes turning into twin vortexes of pure, unadulterated hell. "A six-year-old boy who called you Uncle?"

"I didn't mean for Leo to die!" Damian yelled, his hands shaking slightly as he aimed his gun at Antonio’s chest. "You were supposed to be in that car, Antonio! You were supposed to be the one who died in that alley! But you gave him your coat... you let him sit in the back seat..."

"You set the route," Antonio said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming terrifyingly calm. "You cleared the security logs."

"And I’d do it again!" Damian roared. "Because you're weak! Look at you now—standing in a filthy warehouse for a maid’s daughter!"

"She isn't just a maid's daughter," a voice echoed from the shadows near the entrance.

Vittorio Costa turned his head sharply. "Who’s there?"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The high skylights smashed inward as Marco’s tactical SWAT team dropped down on thick black rappelling ropes! Flashbang grenades detonated in mid-air with blinding white flashes and deafening booms!