The frost bit through Nora Wick’s thin boots like needle-point ice, but the cold was nothing compared to the sudden, breathless silence that fell over her heart.

Nora sat in the passenger seat of an old, rusted Ford F-150, its heater blowing lukewarm air against her frozen toes. Driving the truck was Julian—Silas Cade’s oldest lieutenant. He was a stone-faced man in his sixties with a silver eye patch and a jagged scar running down his throat.

In the back of the truck, Silas sat wrapped in a heavy fur coat, his dogs resting their heavy heads on his knees while he silently loaded spare magazines.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Nora said, her voice shaking as she watched the darkened mansions of Cliffside Drive approach through the heavy snowfall. "We should go to the police!"

Julian let out a dry, rasping laugh. "Little girl, who do you think owns the police? Chief Miller takes a monthly check from the Mayor and another one from Silas. You call the cops, and they’ll hand you over to the hit squad before you finish dialing 911."

"This town is a sewer," Nora muttered, pressing her head against the frost-covered window.

"It's a business," Silas corrected from the back, his voice smooth and ice-hard. "And right now, Mayor Vance is trying a hostile takeover. He thinks because he brought in Russian muscle from Boston, he can erase twenty years of my reign. He forgot one fundamental rule."

"What rule?" Nora asked, turning to look at him.

"You don't start a war in a town where every fisherman, dockworker, and bartender owes their life to the man you're trying to kill."

The truck pulled into a darkened alleyway behind the Victorian mansion belonging to Mayor Arthur Vance. The grand house towered over the ocean cliffs, its warm amber light spilling out across the snow-covered lawn.

Silas stepped out of the truck, leaning heavily on a steel-tipped cane, though his eyes burned with lethal intent. He looked at Nora. "Stay in the truck."

"No," Nora said firmly, stepping out into the freezing wind. Her eyes were resolute. "You said Vance ordered my father's death. I want to look him in the eye when he answers for it."

Silas studied her for a long moment, then gave a single, slow nod. "Don't get behind me. And if I tell you to run, you run."

Julian pulled two silenced handguns from the glove box, handing one to Silas and keeping one for himself. They approached the rear entrance of the mansion. The back door lock was picked by Julian in less than ten seconds.

Inside, the grand house was eerily quiet. Soft jazz music drifted down from the upper balcony, mixed with the faint scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey.

They slipped down the carpeted hallway toward the private study. Silas shoved the heavy double doors open with his cane, stepping inside like a ghost returning from the dead.

Mayor Arthur Vance—a plump, well-groomed man in his late fifties wearing a silk bathrobe—was standing at his mahogany bar, pouring a glass of scotch. He turned around, smiling, expecting his hitmen.

When he saw Silas Cade standing there, bleeding, flanked by Nora Wick and Julian, the glass slid from Vance’s fingers and shattered on the floorboards.

"S-Silas?" Vance stammered, his face turning the color of curdled milk. "You... you were on the ice. They swore you were dead..."

"They lied, Arthur," Silas said softly, taking a slow step forward. "Just like you lied to the town for three years about Caleb Wick."

Vance’s eyes darted frantically toward the desk drawer, where a gun was undoubtedly hidden. But before he could make a move, Julian raised his weapon and aimed it directly between the Mayor’s eyes.

"Don't do it, Arthur," Julian warned softly. "I've been looking for an excuse to shoot you since 2018."

Nora stepped forward, her heart pounding with a mixture of terror and pure rage. "Why?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "My father was an honest man! He never hurt anyone! Why did you kill him?!"

Mayor Vance swallowed hard, backed against the mahogany bookshelf. He looked at Nora, then at Silas, realizing he was trapped.

"Your father was a fool, Nora!" Vance spit, dropping his diplomatic persona. "That waterfront property your family owned wasn't just a fishing dock! It sits right over the deepest deep-water channel in Ironwood Bay! A syndicate out of New York wanted to build a fifty-million-dollar deep-sea shipping terminal there! Your father refused to sell for three times its value! He was standing in the way of progress!"

"He was standing in the way of your greed!" Nora screamed.

"It wasn't just me!" Vance suddenly shouted, pointing a trembling finger directly at Silas. "Ask him! Ask your precious savior who really signed the paperwork! I didn't work alone, Nora! Silas Cade didn't just cover it up—he took a twenty-percent stake in the shipping terminal! He sold your father out for three million dollars!"

Nora froze, the breath trapped in her throat. She slowly turned to look at Silas Cade.