“If we do this,” I whispered, “there is no going back.”

“Your mother will lose everything.”

“She lost me five years ago,” Dominic said, not turning his head.

“She just didn’t realize it until tonight.”

The drive to Queens was tense and fast.

Marco wove through the traffic on the bridge, his hands steady on the steering wheel.

The rain grew heavier, drumming a steady rhythm against the roof of the car.

My hands were cold, and I tucked them into my pockets.

“What if the prosecutors are already compromised?” I asked.

“Caterina’s reach is wide.”

“They aren’t,” Dominic said.

“I have a contact in the office.”

“An assistant US attorney named Miller.”

“He has been trying to build a RICO case against my family for three years.”

“He hates my mother more than I do.”

“And he has no connection to Judge Whitmore.”

I nodded slowly, trying to believe him.

The SUV turned off the main avenue onto a quiet, tree-lined street in Astoria.

The houses here were small, older brick buildings with tiny front yards.

“Two blocks away,” Marco announced, slowing the vehicle down.