The estate on 81st Street did not look like a place where people lived; it looked like a museum that had occasionally decided to let someone sleep in it.

The gunfire abruptly died down as the remaining invaders realized their element of surprise had evaporated and their lead was dead. A sharp, mocking voice echoed up the grand staircase from the shadows below.

"Impressive, Falcone!" Julian Cross shouted, stepping into the dim light at the foot of the stairs, his hands empty, smiling like a shark. "You've still got bite! But let's see how well you fight when your little girlfriend here is bleeding out in the courtyard!"

Cross raised a heavy military detonator, his thumb hovering directly over the red trigger button. "The perimeter is rigged with C4, Enzo. You step down, or we level the estate with both of you inside!"

Enzo slowly stood up from behind the marble pillar, his pistol lowered, his face an unreadable mask of absolute, chilling calm. "Julian," Enzo said softly, his voice carrying across the shattered hall. "You made one critical miscalculation."

Cross sneer faltered slightly. "What's that?"

"You assumed she was my weakness," Enzo replied, taking a slow step forward as Marco silently flanked left along the upper balcony railing. "She's not a weakness, Julian. She's the only person in this city who isn't afraid of the dark."

Before Cross's thumb could depress the trigger, a sharp crack rang out from the darkness above. Marco's sniper round caught the detonator directly in Cross's hand, shattering the plastic device into a thousand flying fragments and tearing through the operative's palm with brutal precision.

Cross screamed, clutching his mangled hand as police sirens—alerted by the estate's silent alarms—finally wailed in the distance, approaching fast through the stormy night.

As the smoke cleared and the estate fell quiet once more, Enzo turned back to Vera, who was standing beside him, breathing heavily, her hand still gripping the medical shears.

For the first time in thirty years, the mafia kingpin didn't look at a world of enemies, leverage, and debt. He looked at the woman who had walked back into a storm for a stray dog, and then stepped into a warzone for him.