Blood was drying on my cuff when I returned home at 1:43 a.m., but the worst violence waiting for me wasn’t at the docks. Before I could turn on the lights, my housekeeper stepped from the darkness and whispered, “Don’t make a sound,” then showed me why my fiancée had been terrorizing my children for eleven weeks, and why losing my temper was exactly what she needed.

Arthur blinked, a sudden flash of anxiety darting through his eyes before he quickly masked it with a polite smile.

"Tonight?" Arthur asked, leaning forward slightly. "Roman, it's better to get these legalities out of the way now. The notary is waiting downstairs in my car."

"Tonight is our formal engagement dinner with Patrick Sloane," I said, standing up from my chair and walking toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking Lake Shore Drive. "It’s a celebration of two families uniting. What better time to sign a document that seals our future?"

Arthur hesitated, calculating the risk. He didn't want to push too hard and raise suspicion.

"Of course," Arthur agreed, standing up and closing his briefcase. "Tonight at the gala. I'll have the notary present during the private toast."

"Perfect," I said, turning to face him. "And Arthur?"

"Yes, Roman?"

"Make sure Camille wears her finest diamonds tonight," I said with a cold, terrifying grin. "I want everyone to remember this night for the rest of their lives."

After Arthur left, Naomi quietly slid through the side door of my office.

"He bit the hook," I told her.

"What is your plan for tonight?" Naomi asked, her voice steady. "Patrick Sloane will have twenty armed enforcers at the Drake Hotel. If a fight breaks out—"

"There won't be a fight, Naomi," I interrupted. "There will be an execution. Not with guns, but with truth."

I walked over to my safe, unlocked it, and pulled out a encrypted satellite phone. I dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.

"Moretti," a gravelly voice answered on the second ring.

It was Inspector Vance of the Federal Organized Crime Task Force—the man who had spent a decade trying to put me behind bars.

"Vance," I said clearly. "I’m giving you the entire Sloane logistics network, fifty million in offshore wire transfers, and two high-profile murder conspiracies on a silver platter."