Two other captains, men I had only seen in old photographs in my father’s basement, moved toward the doors.

Leo scrambled to regain his footing, his face twisted with rage as he pointed the gun back at Dominic.

Dominic lay on the floor, gasping for breath, his face pale as paper.

The effort of the lunge had reopened his stitches, and a dark stain was already spreading across his white shirt.

“Stand down, Leo,” Silvio said, his own weapon now drawn and aimed at Leo’s chest.

“He tried to kill me!” Leo yelled, his chest heaving as he stared at his brother.

“He tried to stop you from murdering a girl,” Silvio said, his eyes cold.

I took a slow step backward, my back hitting the cold wood of the display cabinet behind me.

My hand slid into the deep inner pocket of my heavy canvas jacket.

My fingers brushed against the thick, crisp paper I had taken from the safe beneath Sullivan’s Diner.

“She’s a nobody, Silvio,” Leo spat, his eyes darting between the captains. “She’s a waitress from Southie.”