“I am sorry, Luca,” Santo said, not looking at his partner.

“You idiot,” Luca hissed, his fingers twitching near his own pocket.

“Do not even try it, Luca,” Marcus said, stepping forward.

At that moment, the heavy oak doors of the study swung open completely.

Three of Alexander’s personal guards stepped into the room.

Their long wool coats were soaked with rain, smelling of wet earth and cold wind.

Their faces were grim, their hands already resting on the butts of their holstered pistols.

“Take him,” Alexander said.

The guards moved instantly, grabbing Luca by his arms.

Luca thrashed, kicking a small wooden stool across the floor, but the guards were far stronger.

They pinned his arms behind his back and shoved him against the mahogany desk.

One of the guards reached into Luca’s coat and pulled out a silver-plated revolver, tossing it onto the desk.

“You have nothing, Alexander!” Luca shouted, his face red with rage. “The families in New York will never support you after this!”

“The families in New York do not like thieves,” Alexander said.