The rain in Hawthorne, Pennsylvania, was relentless that Tuesday night, turning the diner windows into smeared, greasy mirrors.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the bullet.

BOOM!

The explosive sound that shattered the corridor wasn't the soft pop of Vance’s suppressed pistol. It was the thunderous roar of a high-caliber rifle breaching the double glass doors of the conservatory downstairs.

Vance snapped his head toward the staircase. "What was that?!"

Before his men could answer, screaming erupted from the lower floor, followed by the rapid, rhythmic, terrifying sound of heavy gunfire. It wasn't an ambush; it was a execution.

"Sir! The rear guard is down!" a mercenary screamed over Vance’s radio. "It's Vale! He didn't go to Philly! He was waiting at the gate!"

Vance’s face drained of color. "What?! That's impossible!"

From the top of the grand staircase, a tall figure emerged through the smoke and flashing emergency lights.

Dominic stood at the top of the stairs, holding a heavy tactical shotgun in his left hand and his silver pistol in his right. His suit was drenched in rain, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, unholy wrath that made Vance’s mercenaries step backward in pure terror.

He hadn't fallen for the trap. He had anticipated his uncle’s desperation.

"Vance," Dominic’s voice boomed down the corridor, echoing like the judgment of God.

Vance panicked, grabbing me by the arm and pulling my body in front of his as a human shield, pressing the hot barrel of his pistol against my temple.

"Don't take another step, Dominic!" Vance shrieked, his voice cracking with hysteria. "I will blow her brains across this wall! I swear to God I will!"

Dominic stopped twenty feet away. He dropped the heavy shotgun to the floor, letting it clatter against the carpet. He held up his hands, his silver pistol resting loosely in his right fingers.

"Let her go, Vance," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a deadly, unnatural calm. "This is between you and me."

"She ruined everything!" Vance screamed, his grip tightening painfully on my arm. "I made you untouchable! I made you feared! And you threw it all away for some broke waitress who wiped your face in a diner!"

"She didn't ruin me, Vance," Dominic said softly, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "She saved me."

"STAY BACK!" Vance yelled, aiming his gun tighter against my skin.

I looked at Dominic. I didn't see fear in his eyes. I saw an absolute, silent signal.

Trust me.

Without hesitation, I stomped the heavy heel of my shoe directly onto Vance’s foot and drove my elbow backward into his ribs with every ounce of strength I possessed.

Vance gasped in pain, his aim slipping two inches to the left.

That two-inch window was all Dominic needed.

BANG!

A single, precise shot rang out from Dominic’s silver pistol. The bullet struck Vance squarely in the shoulder, throwing him backward against the wall. His pistol clattered uselessly onto the floor.

Dominic moved like a blur of lightning. In two strides, he crossed the hall, grabbed Vance by his lapels, and slammed his uncle violently against the stone wall. The remaining mercenaries dropped their weapons, raising their hands in total surrender as Marcus and Dominic’s men swarmed the corridor.

Dominic held Vance pinned against the wall, his silver pistol pressed firmly beneath Vance’s jaw.

"Please... Dominic..." Vance choked out, blood dripping from his mouth. "I am your family... I raised you..."

Dominic looked at his uncle with eyes that were colder than the winter storm outside.