The Dancer Sat Beside the Wrong Man—Then the Mafia Boss Leaned Close and Said, “Don’t Leave.”

Above them, the glass skylights shattered in a deafening rain of crystal shards.

Flashbang grenades plummeted from the ceiling, detonating with blinding, concussive roars: *BANG! BANG! BANG!*

"Kill them!" Russo screamed, clutching his blinded eyes.

Gunfire erupted instantly.

Dante tackled Emily behind an industrial steel forklift just as a hail of bullets tore through the concrete where they had been standing. High above on the catwalks, Cassian and Moretti snipers engaged Russo’s mercenaries with lethal efficiency. Men shouted in panic, red laser sights cutting through the smoke and haze.

"Cover the girl!" Dante barked, popping up from behind the forklift and firing three rapid rounds, dropping two mercenaries advancing toward their position.

Emily didn't wait.

She saw one of Russo's remaining guards running toward Lily with a drawn knife, intent on executing the hostage before the rescue could succeed.

Adrenaline surged through Emily’s veins like liquid fire. She pulled the Walther PPK from her waistband, stepped out from behind the steel wheel of the forklift, and leveled the weapon with both hands.

*Point center mass. Never hesitate.*

Emily pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked sharply in her hands. *Crack!*

The bullet struck the mercenary in the shoulder, spinning him around. He stumbled, cursing, turning his weapon toward Emily.

Emily didn't flinch. She pulled the trigger a second time.

The round took him directly in the chest. The man collapsed heavily onto the floor, his rifle clattering away into the darkness.

Emily bolted across the open concrete, diving toward Lily's chair. "Lily! I’ve got you! I’ve got you!"

She pulled the gag from Lily’s mouth and pulled a small utility blade from her pocket, frantically sawing through the nylon ropes binding her sister's wrists.

"Emily... you came for me..." Lily sobbed, clinging to Emily’s neck the second her hands were free.

"Always," Emily whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "I will always come for you."

A sudden shadow fell over them.

Emily whipped around, raising her empty pistol, but a brutal kick knocked the gun from her grip.

Lucian Russo stood over them, his face covered in soot and blood, his pale eyes wild with psychotic rage. In his hand was a heavy .45 caliber pistol, aimed directly between Emily’s eyes.

"You ruined everything, you little Brooklyn rat," Russo spat, cocking the hammer. "Say goodbye to your sister."

A voice, cold as absolute zero, cut through the gunsmoke behind him.

"Touch her, Lucian. I dare you."

Russo froze.

Dante stood three feet behind him. He wasn't holding a rifle. He wasn't taking cover. His face was a mask of pure, demonic fury. Blood dripped from a graze on his cheek, but his posture was absolute death incarnate.

Russo slowly began to turn his gun toward Dante. "You won't shoot, Moretti. The bullet will go right through me and hit your little—"

Before Russo could finish the sentence, Dante moved with terrifying speed.

He closed the distance in a blur, his left hand slapping Russo’s gun arm aside as the weapon fired harmlessly into the ceiling. Dante’s right fist struck Russo across the jaw with bone-shattering force.

Russo crashed to the concrete floor, spitting blood and teeth. He scrambled backward, terrified, as Dante walked toward him with slow, deliberate footsteps.

"Please... Dante... we can divide the city..." Russo whimpered, holding up trembling, bloody hands. "We can share the ports..."

Dante stood over him, looking down with complete contempt.

"You threatened my wife," Dante said softly. "You made her cry."

Dante drew his combat blade from his hip.