**A 6-YEAR-OLD WHISPERED_ “THERE’S A RECORDER IN YOUR OFFICE…” — THE MAFIA BOSS WENT COLD WHEN HE LEARNED WHO PUT IT THERE**

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Things change, Dom. The world is moving fast. You're too old-school. You treat this empire like a family business, but it's a corporation. And the board of directors has decided it's time for a change in leadership."

"The board?" Dominic mused. "Or just you and Serena playing house with my money?"

Marcus’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Serena is a smart woman. She recognized a sinking ship when she saw one. You got soft, Dom. You started caring about the 'honor' of the thing. There is no honor. There's only power."

"So you bugged my office. You gathered my secrets to hand to the Moretti family to buy your seat at the head of the table," Dominic stated, piecing the puzzle together aloud.

Marcus laughed. "You always were sharp, Dom. But you're too late. The Morettis are backing me. Once you're dead tonight, I absorb your territory, marry your beautiful fiancé, and double my net worth by Tuesday." Marcus raised his weapon, aiming directly at Dominic’s heart. "Any last words, brother?"

Dominic reached into his coat pocket. Every gun in the perimeter clicked, ready to fire. Slowly, he pulled out a small black device, no bigger than a deck of gum, and tossed it onto the wet concrete between them.