Her family let her get beaten at a luxury restaurant to steal her inheritance—until the mafia boss upstairs said three words that ruined them all.

In a private, secured room at Metropolitan Hospital, Grant Sterling paced back and forth like a caged animal. A thick white bandage wrapped around his broken nose, and his jaw was wired on the left side, forcing him to speak through clenched teeth.

Outside the door, two NYPD officers were stationed, but Grant had already found a way around them. Using a burner phone slipped to him by an orderly bribed with his last hidden five thousand dollars, he was on a frantic call.

"Dimitri, listen to me!" Grant hissed into the receiver, pressing his back against the bathroom wall. "Bellini has the shipping manifests! If he takes control of the Vance docks tonight, your supply line through Queens is dead! Dead, do you hear me?!"

On the other end of the line, a raspy, gravelly voice answered in a thick Russian accent. Dimitri Morozov, the ruthless head of the Brighton Beach Bratva and the Bellini family's deadliest rival for over a decade.

"You promised us those docks two weeks ago, little Sterling," Dimitri said, cold menace dripping from every syllable. "You took our deposit. We gave your mother four million dollars to secure the board."

"Bellini forced me to sign a confession!" Grant choked out, sweat stinging his bruised eyes. "He took Mara! He married her this morning! She’s the legal key to the entire operation! But if she dies... if Mara dies tonight before the board certifies the transfer at the gala, the estate falls into probate automatically! Evelyn is the next of kin! We can still give you the ports!"

A long, heavy silence stretched across the line. Grant held his breath, the phone trembling against his ear.

"The Plaza Gala," Dimitri finally said. "Vincent Bellini will have half his army there."

"He won't expect an attack inside the Grand Ballroom," Grant urged desperately, his voice manic with fear. "He thinks he’s won! He thinks everyone is terrified of him! Hit the car when they arrive, or hit the stage during her speech! Just kill her, Dimitri! Kill Mara, and the three hundred million is yours!"

"If you fail us again, Grant," Dimitri warned softly, "I will not just take your legs. I will skin you alive in front of your mother."

"I won't fail! Just do it!" Grant hung up and tossed the phone into the toilet bowl, flushing it repeatedly until it disappeared into the pipes.

He looked at his battered reflection in the mirror, his swollen face twisted in a hideous, psychotic grin.