“I can fix it. My mom taught me,” the six-year-old girl told the Mafia Boss after finding his armored sedan dead on a deserted road with no cell signal. Adrian Moretti almost laughed at the tiny girl holding a wrench like a seasoned mechanic, until a black SUV appeared on that same hidden road three days later and exposed a betrayal that would lead him to the family he never knew existed.

Night fell over Dutchess County like a thick black velvet curtain. The fire from the auto shop had burned down to a glowing mountain of embers, filling the valley with a hazy layer of white smoke that hung low between the pine trees.

I moved silently through the underbrush, utilizing the tactical training my father had forced me to learn when I was a teenager. I had scavenged two extra magazines and a tactical knife from the unconscious gunman I’d shot near the utility door.

Down on the dirt road, four black vehicles were now parked in a defensive perimeter. Over a dozen heavily armed men in dark tactical gear were searching the perimeter with high-powered LED flashlights.

At the center of the group stood my cousin, Julian Moretti.

Julian was thirty-two, handsome in a slick, arrogant way, wearing an expensive cashmere coat over his suit despite the summer humidity. He was holding a satellite phone to his ear, his face contorted in furious rage.

“What do you mean he blew up the shop?!” Julian shouted into the phone. “Where is the body? Where is the girl? Dominic, you idiot, you were supposed to secure the ledger before setting the place on fire!”

Dominic stood near him, a makeshift bandage wrapped around his bleeding forearm. “I tell you, he’s a devil, Julian! He came out of that fire like a madman! He didn't have the girl or the woman with him. They’re either ash inside that foundation, or they’re buried in a cellar!”

Julian kicked the dirt in frustration. “Find them! Bring in the heavy equipment from the highway construction site down the road! I want that concrete floor ripped open! If Clara Vance’s ledger survives, it can ruin every offshore account we hold in Zurich!”

I crouched behind an outcrop of granite thirty yards above them, listening to every word.

So the ledger wasn't just old family history. It was the key to Julian’s entire financial structure. Without it, Julian couldn't pay off the capos in Brooklyn who were backing his quiet coup against me.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. As expected, the signal was still dead—the mercenaries had set up a heavy military-grade jammer on the roof of one of their trucks.

If I wanted to call in my loyal enforcement teams from Manhattan, I had to destroy that truck first.

I slipped out my tactical knife and began circling around the perimeter, moving from shadow to shadow like a ghost.

The guard monitoring the jammer truck was standing near the rear bumper, smoking a cigarette and holding an assault rifle casually across his chest. He was young, inexperienced—one of Julian’s newly hired street soldiers who had never fought in a real war.

I stepped out from behind an oak tree behind him. Before he could turn, I wrapped my left arm around his neck, cutting off his windpipe, while my right hand slid the blade into the truck’s heavy power supply cables running to the roof-mounted antennae.

A sharp shower of blue sparks erupted as the main power line snapped. The jammer’s cooling fans whined down to a dead stop.

The guard went limp in my arms. I lowered him silently to the grass, took his assault rifle and three spare magazines, and checked my phone.

The signal bars instantly flashed back to life: 5G - Full Service.

I tapped my speed dial for Frank Rossi, my undisputed head of security and the most loyal man my father had ever hired.

“Boss?!” Frank’s frantic voice answered on the first ring. “Where the hell are you?! We’ve been searching for you for forty-eight hours! Your tracker went offline in—”

“Listen to me carefully, Frank,” I interrupted, my voice sharp and clear. “Julian has mounted a coup. He’s staged an ambush in northern Dutchess County, five miles off Route 82 near the old mill creek.”

Frank let out a low curse. “I knew that snake was plotting something! He told the family council yesterday that you had fled the country with company funds!”

“Bring twelve men,” I commanded. “Three armored Suburbans. Full tactical kit. Tell the capos in Brooklyn that Julian is acting without council approval. Anyone who stands with him dies tonight.”

“We’re on the interstate in five minutes, Boss. Hold on.”

“I’m not holding on, Frank,” I said, looking down at Julian standing in the middle of the road. “I’m taking back my family.”

I ended the call, set my phone to silent, and adjusted the shoulder strap of the captured rifle.

Below me, Julian suddenly noticed the lights on the jammer truck had gone dark.

“Hey!” Julian yelled toward the woods. “Marcus! Why is the jammer down? Check the generator!”

Two guards started walking toward my position, their flashlights cutting through the dark trees.

I stepped out into the open moonlight on the granite ledge above them, lowering the sights of my rifle directly onto the hood of Julian’s custom Bentley.

“Looking for me, cousin?” I called down.

Julian froze. Every guard below spun around, raising their flashlights toward the ridge.