“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.

Muzzle flashes illuminated the forest in blinding strobes of light. Bullets chipped away at the granite ledge around me, sending showers of sharp rock dust into the air.

I fired controlled, lethal bursts down into the convoy.

My first volley destroyed the engine blocks of the two lead SUVs, leaking hot fluid across the driveway and preventing any vehicle from escaping. My second burst struck the driver of the jammer truck who was trying to re-engage the system.

“SPREAD OUT! SURROUND THE RIDGE!” Dominic was bellowing, trying to organize the panicked soldiers.

Julian, showing his true cowardly nature, dove behind the armored door of his Bentley, screaming at his men while trying to crawl into the back seat.

I didn't stay on the ridge. As soon as they concentrated their fire upward, I dropped down a narrow drainage gully, sliding thirty feet down the muddy slope to flank their position from the rear.

I emerged from the shadows right beside the burning remains of the auto shop.

The steel trapdoor beneath the collapsed lift was holding, but the heat from the surrounding embers was growing dangerous. I needed to end this fight before the smoke penetrated the underground shelter.

I moved with cold, methodical precision.

One soldier stepped around the corner of the garage—I dropped him with a two-round burst to the chest. A second guard turned toward the sound—I disabled him with a swift strike from the butt of my rifle before taking his weapon.

Within five minutes, seven of Julian’s twelve men were down. The remaining soldiers, realizing they were being hunted by a man who knew these woods like the back of his hand, began discarding their weapons and scattering into the dark mountain forest.

“Retreat! It’s a setup! He’s got a whole squad in the trees!” one of the fleeing guards screamed into his radio.

“STAY AND FIGHT, YOU COWARDS!” Dominic roared, sweeping his weapon wildly through the smoke.

I stepped out from behind a charred beam of the garage, coming to a stop ten feet behind Dominic.

“It’s over, Dominic,” I said softly.

Dominic spun around, raising his pistol, but I was faster. I fired a single round through his right wrist. His gun flew into the air, landing with a splash in a puddle of muddy water.

Dominic collapsed onto his knees, cradling his shattered wrist, his face twisted in pain and fury. “You... you think you’ve won, Adrian? Julian has the whole Brooklyn council in his pocket! You’ll never rule Manhattan again!”

“I don't care about Manhattan right now,” I said, stepping past him toward the Bentley. “I care about my home.”

I pulled open the rear door of the luxury sedan.

Julian was cowering on the leather floorboards, holding a small gold-plated pistol with hands that shook so violently he could barely hold the grip.

“Adrian... please!” Julian whimpered, his arrogant composure completely shattered. “It was Dominic’s idea! I swear! He came to me three months ago! He said Vincent left a secondary trust that belonged to me if we found Clara!”

I reached inside, grabbed Julian by his expensive silk tie, and dragged him out onto the dirt road like a sack of trash.

I threw him down onto the gravel at the feet of the kneeling Dominic.

“You tried to kill my child, Julian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, the barrel of my rifle pointed straight between his eyes. “You tried to burn her alive in that shop.”

“I didn't know she was there! I swear to God I didn't know about the kid!” Julian wept, pressing his palms together in desperate plea. “Take the family business! Take the accounts! I’ll leave the country! I’ll go to Europe and never come back!”

Before I could answer, the roaring sound of heavy V8 engines echoed from the main road.

Three massive black Suburbans burst through the treeline, their high beams blinding the clearing as they pulled up in a tactical formation.

A dozen heavily armed men clad in dark tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, led by Frank Rossi.

Frank took one look at the burning shop, the scattered enemy guards, and Julian crying on the ground, then walked over to me with a look of profound relief.

“Boss,” Frank said, offering a crisp salute. “The city is secure. We arrested Julian’s lieutenants in Brooklyn an hour ago after your call came through. The family council has been notified of his treason.”

Frank looked down at Julian with disgust. “What do you want us to do with these two snakes?”

I lowered my rifle, looking back toward the smoking ruins of the garage.

“Put them in the back of the Suburbans,” I ordered coldness returning to my tone. “They will stand trial before the full family council in Brooklyn. Every dollar they stole, every asset they touched will be seized and placed into a trust.”