“We have a gala to attend in two days,” Damiano said.

“And Silvio will be there, waiting for his moment.”

“And Marcus?” I asked.

“Marcus will be there too,” Damiano said.

He slid the pistol into his shoulder holster.

“He wants a war,” Damiano said. “I will give him one.”

Suddenly, the lights in the office flickered.

The hum of the air conditioning died, leaving the room in near darkness.

Only the silver light from the window illuminated Damiano’s face.

The security alarm on the wall began to pulse with a silent, red glow.

A soft beep came from the desk console.

I leaned forward, looking at the security monitor.

The camera feed for the front gate was gone.

Instead, a single text line appeared on the screen: *System Offline.*

Then, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway outside.

The heavy footsteps stopped directly outside the wooden door.

My breath caught in my throat, and I pressed my back against the cold mahogany of the safe.

Damiano did not move.

He stood in the center of the dark room, his silver pistol held low against his thigh.