“A shipment of military-grade rifles went missing from the state armory last week.”

“They are saying a new militia is setting up in the old rail yards,” Declan added.

“A militia?” Victor asked from the back seat.

“Heavily armed,” Declan said. “No loyalty to the families.”

“They are being paid in cash.”

“Vescari cash,” Roman said, his voice flat.

The puzzle pieces were falling into place, and the picture was terrifying.

My father wasn’t just stealing to pay off his debts.

He was funding a war.

A war that would destroy the three families and leave the city in ruins.

The car turned onto the pier road, the headlights reflecting off the black water of the harbor.

The giant shipping cranes stood like iron skeletons against the stormy sky.

Declan turned off the lights, letting the car coast to a halt behind a row of rusted shipping containers.

“Warehouse four,” Declan whispered.

Through the rain-streaked window, I saw the flickering yellow light of the warehouse.

Two men stood near the entrance, their hands buried in the pockets of their heavy coats.