ien

metal rims. The piercing, continuous shriek of the car's security alarm vibrated throu

cle tilted awkwardly to the left. The acrid stench of bu

teeth ached. *"Status,"* I barked over the encrypted comms, my v

king garage."* In the background, I heard the violent crash of metal colliding with concrete. *"The boy-Marco-he

five-year-old. A five-year-old boy had just crippled my three

this metal coff

iately slid into the back of the backup black SUV. The heavy doors slammed shut, instantly sev

red suit was dusted with concrete powder, his st

d, my eyes fixed on

, though I could hear the underlying tension. "We have the plate, but they were

ishe

ng against my pride. No one vanished

Vittorio, my grandfather, had handed me a file six years ago painting Isabella Rossi a

't look at yo

en spat with defiance or calculated malice. It had been breathed out with a raw, suffocating terror. She had l

d, my voice danger

ace me. "Thrown by the other boy, Alessandro. The one with t

n't the actions of pampered children raised on a se

eaking under my weight. "The boy

't hesitate. "They are yours, Don. The exact same st

emnants of my patience. My blood. My sons. My daughter. She had stolen th

he Italian curse slipping out

sion of a measured response. This was no long

ercy. "Handle her. I never want to see or hear from h

d," Casimi

ng the confined space. "I want access to every traffic camera from here to Queens. Run facial recognition on

indow at the sprawling, n

hem befor