Page 117 of Pietro

"What if we negotiate?"

Lorenzo's words cut through the silence. Everyone turns to stare at him.

"Explain." My voice comes out harder than I intend, but Lorenzo doesn't flinch.

The warehouse district swallows light like a black hole. Empty buildings stretch for blocks, broken windows. The Murphy warehouse squats in the center, a massive brick monument to Chicago's industrial past.

Liam's voice crackles through my earpiece. "Positions set. Two on the roof across the street, one in the loading dock, two more covering the exits."

"Copy." I kill the engine three blocks out. "We walk from here."

Beside me, Nora pulls her coat tighter. The November wind cuts through clothing like it's made of paper. Her breath fogs in the cold air.

"You can still?—"

"Don't." She opens her door. "We're past that."

Lorenzo and Nico fall in behind us as we move through the shadows. Tony stumbles along between them, radiating terror. The old man's lost twenty pounds in three months of guilt.

The warehouse looms larger with each step. Security lights—the few that work—cast pools of sickly yellow between vast stretches of darkness. Our footsteps echo off concrete despite our efforts at stealth.

"Movement." Liam's voice in my ear. "Three vehicles approaching from the north."

"Hold positions."

The cars materialize from the gloom. Two SUVs flanking a sedan. They stop fifty yards from the main loading dock. Doors open. Men emerge, weapons visible but not raised.

Declan steps from the sedan's rear, dragging something small.

Michael.

The boy stumbles, too small for his seven years. Even from here, I can see him shaking. Tony makes a sound like a wounded animal.

"Steady." I grip the older man's shoulder.

Then his eyes find mine.

"Well, well." Declan's Irish accent thickens with amusement. "Pietro Sartori himself. Didn't expect the Don to play delivery boy."

The gun appears in his hand so fast Michael doesn't have time to flinch. Cold metal presses against the boy's temple.

"Wait!" Tony drops to his knees on the cracked asphalt. "Please, wait! I brought her, just like you asked. Please don't hurt him."

"Shut up, old man." Declan's gaze never leaves mine. "You had your chance to follow instructions. Three months of perfect intel, then you go and bring the whole Sartori cavalry."

Michael whimpers. The sound cuts through the night like broken glass.

"Let the boy go first." I keep my voice level, commanding. "Then we talk."

Declan laughs. Α sound like breaking glass. "The new Don gives orders to everyone. How's that working out for you?"

"The boy, Declan." Nora says.

"Well, well. The princess herself." His smile could freeze blood. "I've been looking for you, baby girl."

He is going to regret that.

Nora steps forward before I can stop her. "Let the child go. Your issue's with me, not him."