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“Congratulations,” I snort, snapping the file shut and tossing it back onto the desk. “You cracked the big mystery. Can we dismiss class now?”

“That’s always been your problem, Quinn,” Nico’s voice cuts through the tension. “You’re too busy being an insolent prick to pay attention.”

He leans forward. “Your federal profile was erased today. The directive came from a single phone call. Made in a dark room in the belly of New York.”

The words sink into the silence like stones.

I keep my face blank, but my gut churns. Hawkins lives in New York. I always knew this day would come. I’d made my peace with it.

Until I found a reason to live longer.

A clever, bossy, and brave reason with sloe eyes and a wicked tongue.

“Hawkins is ghosting me,” I state flatly.

“Not Hawkins,” Dante’s voice is laced with something darker. “The order came from the very top. And here’s a hint—they’re not with the government.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nico flashes Dante one of his rare smiles. “Fratellino,he still doesn’t get it. Tell him who his boss is. Actually, that would be me. Tell him who the order came from.”

The unease crawling under my skin becomes a full-blown warning siren. I brace myself, knowing whatever Dante’s about to say will flip my world on its head.

“You ever heard of Giovanni Di Stefano?”

The name hits like a sledgehammer, and my mind instantly combs through years of memories. I never forget names, and this one stands out. I remember thinking it was far too strong for the snot-nosed investment banker I dragged out of that perfumed penthouse in Zurich.

Dante’s voice cuts through my spinning thoughts. “You may know him better as the ‘Beast of New York’.”

“Impossible!” The word tears out of me as blood roars in my ears. Getting blindsided is one of the few things I truly hate, and right now, it feels like someone’s yanked the rug out from under me. “They can’t be the same person.”

The Beast of New York—the monster who has the entire Cosa Nostra in a chokehold—simply cannot be the same blubbering wreck I crammed into a crate that freezing night.

“I’m afraid they are, Quinn,” Dante says. “I was in a meeting with him this morning.”

“And?” I arch an eyebrow, my disbelief a brittle shield against the storm building inside me.

Dante’s gray eyes gleam like a predator’s. “Giovanni got a call. A few buzzwords caught my attention: a rogue FBI agent. Pascal Romano’s niece. A botched Middle East deal.” He leans forward, his smirk curving into something deadly. “Guess the common denominator?”

“Giovanni Di Stefanois theBeast of New York?“ My mind stubbornly latches onto the thought.

“Focus, Quinn.” Dante snaps his fingers. “The issue here isn’t who the Beast is—it’s what he controls.”

“Which is?” I demand.

“A staggering number of shell government agencies, including the subdivision you work in.”

Dante lets the weight of his words land before delivering the killing blow.

“All these years, you thought you were working for the government? You weren’t. You worked first for Luca Moretti and then Giovanni Di Stefano—after he crushed the Moretti empire and took its throne.”

The idea is so absurd I almost laugh—but there’s nothing funny about sitting in a dingy motel room with the Vitelli brothers at four in the goddamn morning, watching the last decade of my life get shredded to fucking bits.

I’ve been nothing but another weapon in the Mafia’s arsenal. The knowledge burns. Makes me want to break something. Kill something.

I curl my fists so tight my knuckles ache. “And Hawkins? Does he know about this?”

Something dark flickers in Dante’s eyes. “My guess is he didn’t. Not that it matters. He’s dead.”