Lucian raised his gun, pointing it directly between the young man’s eyes.

“Marcus,” Toby gasped, his hands shaking. “He said you were weak. He said the Chicago people would run the docks anyway.”

Lucian did not pull the trigger. He lowered the weapon and looked at me.

“The docks are where we keep the main shipments,” Lucian said. “If Marcus has them, he has the city.”

“Then we take them back,” I said.

I stood up straight, smoothing down my torn apron.

I felt a cold, calm certainty wash over me, a feeling I had not felt since my childhood.

I was done running from the shadows of men who thought they owned the world.

“You do not have to do this, Mara,” Lucian said, stepping closer. “This is my war.”

“It became mine when they put a brick through my window,” I said.

I looked down at Bishop, who had let go of Toby and was now licking a scratch on his paw.

“And they tried to kill my dog,” I added.

Lucian’s lips curved into a rare, faint smile.