The mansion doors closed behind Elena Vulkoff with a soft click, and for the third time that week, she thought no one had noticed she was leaving early

At 4:30 a.m., the heavy steel doors of Hector’s Auto Body Shop were blown clean off their hinges by a controlled explosive charge.

The deafening boom shattered the quiet industrial street. Before the smoke could even clear, eight heavily armed men in black tactical gear flooded the garage, neutralizing the four armed guards inside before they could draw their weapons.

Hector, a greasy man in a leather jacket, scrambled backward from his desk, reaching for a shotgun.

A heavy boot slammed down onto his hand, crushing his fingers against the oil-stained concrete. Hector screamed in agony.

Vincent Marcelli stepped through the smoke, dressed in a immaculate grey wool coat, his hands resting calmly in his pockets. He looked around the filthy garage with an expression of profound disgust.

"Vincent... Don Marcelli!" Hector gasped, sweating profusely, his face pale with horror. "What... what is this? We haven't crossed into Marcelli territory! We respect the borders!"

Vincent walked over to the desk, pulled up a folding chair, and sat down directly in front of the bleeding enforcer. He reached out and picked up a dog-eared ledger book resting near the cash box.

He flipped through the pages until he found the letter V.

Vulkoff, Elena. Original Debt: $12,000. Interest Paid: $34,000. Balance Remaining: $45,000.

Vincent’s eyes burned with a terrifying, ancient fire.

"She borrowed twelve thousand dollars," Vincent said softly, his voice dangerously gentle. "She has paid you thirty-four thousand. And you are still shaking her down for forty-five more?"

Hector swallowed hard, choking on his own breath. "That's... that's just the interest rate, Don Vincent! It's business! Her dead husband signed the paper!"

Vincent leaned forward, his face inches from Hector's. "Elena Vulkoff works for me."

Hector froze. "She... she's your maid? I didn't know! I swear to God, I didn't know she was connected to you!"

"She wasn't," Vincent murmured softly. "She is now."

Vincent pulled the ledger page out of the book, tore it into tiny pieces, and let them drop onto Hector's bloody face like falling snow.

"Here is how this transaction ends," Vincent said, standing up and buttoning his coat. "The debt is settled. If you, your men, or anyone from the Santos crew ever steps within ten miles of Elena Vulkoff or her son again... I will burn your entire organization to ashes and bury you beneath the concrete of this garage. Do you understand me?"