THE KEY TO THE SYNDICATE

The tunnel erupted into a full-scale war, but it was over almost as quickly as it began.

Carlo and a dozen of Vincent’s heaviest hitters flooded the tracks, flanking Maroni’s remaining men. Without their Don, the rival gang surrendered, dropping their weapons into the dirt.

Silence fell over the subway graveyard, broken only by the sound of groaning men and dripping water.

I sat on the floor of the train car, clutching the ledger to my chest, shaking uncontrollably.

Vincent appeared in the doorway. His suit was torn, his face smeared with soot, and blood was dripping heavily from a graze on his left shoulder. But he was alive.

He stepped into the car and dropped to his knees right in front of us. He didn't look at the ledger. He looked at me, then at Lily.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rough with adrenaline.

“No,” I sobbed. “We’re okay.”

Vincent let out a long, shuddering breath. The untouchable mob boss bowed his head, resting his forehead against my shoulder for just a second. I felt the heat of his skin, the heavy thud of his heart.

“Boss,” Carlo’s voice interrupted from outside. “Maroni is dead. What do we do with the rest?”

Vincent lifted his head. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of an emperor.

“Strip them of their weapons. Send them back to their families,” Vincent commanded coldly. “Tell them the Maroni family is finished. The Romano family holds the ledger now. Anyone who crosses me, I will ruin.”

Carlo nodded, a grim smile on his face. “And the fiancée, Boss?”

Vincent looked at me. Then he looked at Lily, who was still wearing his oversized coat and the heavy iron bracelet.

“Celeste is exiled,” Vincent said. “Put her on a plane to Europe with nothing but the clothes on her back. If she ever steps foot in my city again, kill her.”

It was over.

The threat that had hung over my family for nine years, the shadow that had cost my father his life, was gone.

Vincent stood up and held out his hand to me.

I looked at it for a long moment. It was the hand of a killer. A criminal. But it was also the hand of the man who had thrown himself over my daughter in the dark. The man who had kept a promise to a dead artist for a decade.

I took his hand. He pulled me to my feet, his grip gentle but unyielding.

He looked down at the ledger in my arms.

“That belongs to you,” Vincent said. “Your father stole it. It’s your leverage now.”

I looked at the heavy leather book. It was worth millions. It contained the power to control the city.

I walked over to a rusted oil drum outside the train car. Someone had started a small trash fire inside it for warmth.

Without hesitating, I tossed the ledger into the flames.

Vincent watched as the fire consumed the book. He didn't try to stop me. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

“You are exactly like him,” Vincent murmured.

I reached into my pocket. I pulled out the necklace Celeste had been wearing earlier in the night. It must have snagged on my sleeve when she attacked us. It was a heavy diamond pendant.

I tossed that into the fire, too.

“I don't want leverage,” I said, looking Vincent in the eye. “I want peace.”

Vincent stepped closer to me. The firelight danced in his dark eyes.

“I can't promise you a simple life,” Vincent said quietly, his voice a gravelly hum. “I am who I am. But I can promise you this: no one will ever look down on you or your daughter again. You belong under my protection. Always.”

Lily tugged on Vincent’s torn sleeve.

Vincent looked down.

“Does this mean I don't have to wear these squeaky shoes anymore?” she asked.