They shoved Ronnie into the back seat like he was a bag of garbage that might start screaming. Rope coiled around his wrists and ankles, rough nylon from Joey’s basement. Darius had double-knotted it himself, pulling until Ronnie hissed.

Zeke climbed in next to him, dropping into the seat with purpose, hoodie still bunched over his stomach like the “gun” was nestled deep in the pocket. Joey slid into the passenger seat, silent, cheeks flushed, eyes avoiding his brother. Darius took the wheel and cranked the engine, pulling out of the drive without looking back.

Good. Let the house disappear.

The sun was low over Warren, painting the cracked sidewalks in slanted gold, but inside the hybrid it felt cold and sharp. Zeke stared at Ronnie—the famous older brother he’d heard so much about. Joey’s tormentor. Josh’s trap. His hair was annoyingly perfect, slicked and styled like a magazine ad. His chain was real gold. His outfit screamed “Look at me,” and Zeke could already tell: this guy thought he was a fucking king.

Joey was up front, hugging himself like he wanted to disappear. Darius was silent behind the wheel, eyes on the road, knuckles tight around the steering wheel.

Already knowing it was probably a mistake, Zeke turned to Ronnie and yanked the balled-up shirt from his mouth.

Ronnie smacked his lips, flexed his jaw, and gave Zeke a long, bitter look before snorting.

“What the hell is this?” he rasped. “Some gay little road trip?”

Zeke narrowed his eyes. In the front, Darius stiffened, and Joey hid his face in his hands.

“I mean,” Ronnie continued brazenly. “I’m not surprised Joey turned out gay—kid’s always been a little freak—but Josh?” He scoffed. “How the hell did that happen?”

Zeke’s jaw tightened. “You wanna talk about Josh?”

Ronnie smirked like it was all just a game. “What, did he catch your Southern accent and fall in love?”

Zeke didn’t blink. “I’ve been helping Joey and Darius lay low from all the action up here in Ohio. I helped Joey call Linda the other day and Josh was there. That’s how we met. He messaged me after and we started talking. It just... happened. Naturally. Over the course of a few days.” His voice dropped. “Maybe he was only flirting back ‘cause I live in South Carolina. He thought I was joking. But I wasn’t joking. I came to Ohio to save him. I’m serious.”

Ronnie grimaced like Zeke had just offered him a flower. “Jesus. You’re all sick. I knew my brothers were fuckups, but now they’re a pair of faggots? Disgusting.”

“Sh-shut up,” Joey whispered, red-faced, not turning around. “Just shut the f-fuck up.”

Zeke’s pulse roared in his ears. “And what the hell’s so great about you, huh?” he snapped. “You’re a low-level mob lackey. Congrats. What’s next, a pinstripe suit and a company Zippo? You’re so loyal you’d sell out your own family. That’s not impressive, that’s just pathetic.”

“I didn’t sell anybody out,” Ronnie growled. “You think this is on me? All you assholes had to know Vinnie’s got ears on the Balas family. What were you thinking? All those little video calls and late-night chats between you and Josh? Vinnie heard everything. Every single call home was recorded.”

“Fuck you!” Zeke shouted, his whole body leaning forward. “Fuck you for listening to that—”

“Oh, I didn’t listen to any of that crap,” Ronnie smirked, twisting the knife. “But I knew something weird was going on when Vinnie and Carmine were talking about it the other night. They were both laughing. Talking about Josh’s new pen-pal. I should have put two-and-two together myself, but I never would have thought…”

He trailed off, still smirking, his eyes gleaming with malice and Zeke couldn’t help himself. He lunged at him.

“Shut up!” Zeke grabbed Ronnie by the front of his jacket and slammed him hard back against the window.

“Ooof,” Ronnie hissed as the breath rushed out of him. But still, he was smirking.

And Zeke was about the punch him dead in the face, when—

Ping.

A soft tone from inside Ronnie’s coat pocket.

Everyone froze.

Zeke’s eyes locked on Ronnie’s. The smirk was gone. Just a flicker of... something in his eyes.

“What was that?” Zeke asked.

Ronnie was silent.

Zeke didn’t wait—he shoved a hand into the guy’s jacket, yanked the phone out, then waved the hoodie bulge toward him like a gun barrel. “What’s your code?”

Ronnie hesitated.

“Give. Me. The code,” Zeke hissed.

Ronnie swallowed. “3927.”

Zeke unlocked it, his thumb trembling.

It was a text thread. No contact name. Just a number.

The newest message was a picture.

Josh.

Tied to a chair. His face was a canvas of bruises—one eye swollen shut, blood drying at the corner of his mouth. His arms were lashed tight to the wood.

Zeke’s chest caved in. He didn’t say anything—he couldn’t. He just passed the phone forward.

Joey gasped. “N-no… oh my god…”

Darius didn’t say anything. He scrolled back.

“There’s a message from this morning,” he muttered. “Eight a.m. Says ‘Get him to the courthouse by nine. Pickup scheduled.’” He looked up at the mirror. “They grabbed him before his hearing. Set the whole thing up.”

Zeke took the phone back, staring at the photo. Josh looked broken. He’d never even met him in person. But God—he felt like he’d known him forever.

Ronnie started to chuckle.

A slow, ugly sound.

Zeke looked up, rage flaring in his gut.

“You really do care about him, don’t you?” Ronnie said, voice all sticky mockery. “Aww. That’s adorable.”

Zeke didn’t hesitate this time. His fist cracked across Ronnie’s mouth.

Ronnie’s head slammed into the window with a thunk. He cursed, spitting blood.

“Josh told me what you did to him,” Zeke snapped. “Back in high school. You fed him drugs. Got him hooked. Got him busted. You got paid while he went to prison.”

Ronnie wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “He went to jail ‘cause he got sloppy. Same with Joey. I gave ‘em both a way outta this shithole life. It’s not my fault they’re both retards who can’t keep their heads down when the bullets start flying.”

Joey turned around, voice shaking. “R-Ronnie… you’re… you’re a monster.”

Ronnie gave a bloody grin. “Maybe. But I’m a monster that survives. You’re just prey. Soft. Weak. Sheep waiting to be gutted.”

Joey turned back around fast, staring hard out the window.

Darius spoke, voice like steel. “Even my shitty brothers never pulled this kind of betrayal. You’re a special kind of coward.”

Ronnie rolled his eyes, looking out the window like they were the ones wasting his time. “You idiots wouldn’t understand. None of you have what it takes to be anything more than what you already are. A bunch of losers.” He smiled. “But me? I’m destined for bigger things. And if I have to step over my own family to get there… so be it.”

Zeke shook his head in disgust and shoved the phone into Ronnie’s lap. “I’ve never been happier to be an only child.”

The tires hummed beneath them. The sun finally dipped below the horizon as the hybrid merged onto the highway, the city of Warren shrinking behind them like a bad dream.

They were heading north.

And Zeke was ready for war.

It was full dark by the time they rolled into Lorain.

Zeke leaned forward, squinting through the windshield as the car coasted to a stop in front of the Mancuso Funeral Home—a hulking, old-money mansion dressed up in black marble and wrought iron. The driveway was freshly paved. The hedges trimmed with surgical precision. It looked more like a private club than a place for dead people.

And still, it gave him the creeps.

The building loomed against the night sky, soft golden light spilling from behind thick curtains. A few cars dotted the side lot. Not a lot. Enough to make Zeke wonder: were there people inside? Was Josh inside?

His heart beat faster.

Darius killed the engine and glanced at Joey.

“Ready?” he muttered, his voice deep. And Joey nodded. The two of them started to get out of the car.

Zeke turned to Ronnie, jabbing a knuckle against his ribs through the hoodie pocket. “Now you. C’mon. You’re going in first.”

Ronnie gave him a dry look. “Yeah? Good plan. Except my ankles are tied, genius.”

Zeke rolled his eyes. “Right.” He fumbled at the knot, muttering under his breath as he undid it. “If you run, I will tackle you.”

“Oh no. Please don’t,” Ronnie mocked, grinning like a brat.

Zeke hauled Ronnie out of the car, joining Darius and Joey in the dark lot. The night air was cold and smelled faintly of something floral—funeral flowers, probably.

“Move,” Zeke said, nudging Ronnie between the shoulder blades. “You’re the point man.”

And with a sigh, Ronnie started for the funeral home at a shuffle.

They crept around back, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. Zeke kept close, finger pressed to Ronnie’s spine, pretending it was steel. Darius held a small tool roll under one arm, prepared to pick the lock. But when they reached the rear door, he blinked.

It was propped open and a sliver of light glowed from within.

Darius let out a quiet sigh. “Well… that’s not suspicious at all.”

Ronnie snorted. “Wow. Door’s open. Yeah, this screams hostage situation.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Bet they’re holding Josh in a coffin. Very dramatic.”

“Shut up,” Joey hissed, glancing around nervously.

Zeke jabbed Ronnie again. “Inside. Now.”

They stepped through the door and into stillness.

The interior was immaculate—cool air, polished wood, fresh lilies in crystal vases. The kind of money that made you forget people died here. Rich wallpaper. Ornate sconces. A velvet runner down the hall.

And yet…

Every sound felt too loud. Their footsteps echoed. The air pressed in.

The reception room was to the right—empty. Framed portraits on the walls: old men with parted hair and cold eyes. The Mancusos, probably.

They moved deeper.

The chapel came next. Rows of mahogany pews, white cushions pristine. A large crucifix at the front. Everything neat. Tidy. Ready for mourning.

But nobody was here.

“C-creepy,” Joey whispered.

Zeke nodded. “Too clean.”

Ronnie let out a fake yawn. “Would you relax? It’s a funeral home. What did you expect, balloons?”

Joey flinched. Darius elbowed Ronnie lightly in the ribs.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll find a coffin to lock you in,” he said, flat.

They crossed through the arrangement room—a cozy, beige-carpeted office with a polished desk and a little box of tissues by the guest chair. One wall had urns on display like it was a jewelry store.

Still no one.

Then the viewing room—dark, with long drapes drawn over the windows and a faint scent of roses and wax. A few folding chairs lined the walls. Empty easels. A book of remembrance open on a podium, untouched.

Zeke could feel his pulse in his neck.

“I don’t like this,” Joey mumbled. “Wh-where is everybody?”

Darius turned in a slow circle. “If they’re here… they’re not upstairs.”

Zeke looked toward the heavy wooden door at the back of the hall. The one marked Staff Only. His stomach twisted.

Darius caught his glance. “Downstairs. That’s where they prep the bodies.”

Nobody moved for a beat.

Then Ronnie said, almost too cheerfully, “Oh, this just keeps getting better.”

Zeke curled his hand tighter into a fist and stepped forward. “Let’s go find out who’s really home.”

The stairwell smelled like strong, chemical disinfectant.

Zeke followed Darius down into the dark, pushing Ronnie ahead of them. The steps creaked under their weight, and the farther they descended, the colder it got—like the air hadn’t moved in years.

It was narrow, concrete-walled, lit by a single buzzing bulb halfway down. Shadows warped their shapes on the walls. Joey’s breath was shallow behind him, and Ronnie, of course, couldn’t help himself.

“WoooooOooooo,” he moaned, dragging it out like a ghost in a haunted house. “Come closer, little piggies…”

“R-Ronnie, s-stop it,” Joey hissed.

“Aww, does that still scare you?” Ronnie squawked with laughter. “OooooWoooo! They’re coming to get you, little baby!”

“C-cut it out!”

“Maybe we’ll find Josh’s corpse laid out down here like a prom queen,” Ronnie added with glee.

Zeke smacked the back of Ronnie’s head—not hard, but enough. “Shut up,” he snapped.

“Jesus,” Ronnie muttered, rubbing his skull. “Tense much?”

Zeke said nothing as they hit the basement level.

Because… everything about it was wrong.

The air was freezer-cold and smelled like chemicals and metal. A long hallway stretched ahead of them, lined with old wooden doors. Frosted windows. Some of them had labels etched into the glass: Preparation, Storage, Embalming.

Another moan echoed faintly down the hallway—but this one was mechanical. A fridge, maybe. Or worse.

A single light glowed at the end of the hall.

And voices.

Darius halted, holding up a hand. His voice was low. “Quiet. Someone’s down here.”

Zeke grabbed Ronnie’s shirt and shoved him forward. “Go.”

“Oh great, human shield again,” Ronnie muttered. “You guys really are cowards.”

“Keep moving.”

They crept closer, the floor beneath their feet a mix of tile and cement. Every sound felt amplified. The hum of electricity. A faint metal clink. The low murmur of voices, distorted by distance.

They reached the last door.

Zeke braced himself. Darius flexed his fingers like he was ready to fight.

Ronnie sighed dramatically and nudged the door open with his shoulder.

All four of them crowded the doorway—

—and froze.

Inside the room, two men in latex gloves stood at a metal table, utterly startled.

They were working on a body.

A very dead, very naked, bloated old man. His skin was a sickly purple-blue, and his stomach puffed like a balloon. One of the workers held a scalpel. The other froze mid-injection.

Everyone stared at each other.

Joey’s eyes went wide—and then he made a sound like a strangled scream, turned on his heel, and bolted.

“Nope—nope nope nope—” he cried as he jogged back for the stairs.

Zeke just… blinked.

One of the workers slowly lowered his scalpel. “Uh… can we help you?”

Darius stared for a beat, then exhaled. “Wrong location. Sorry. Thought this was a kidnapping. Carry on.”

Ronnie burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Joey looked like he was gonna piss himself!”

Zeke narrowed his eyes and shoved Ronnie back toward the stairwell. “Quit laughing and move.”

They trudged out one by one, Darius muttering a soft apology as he shut the door.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Zeke muttered, as they climbed back toward the top. “I almost puked.”

“Did you see his balls?” Ronnie snickered. “That shit was prehistoric.”

“Shut up,” Joey’s voice called from somewhere ahead, still breathless.

They emerged into the upper level, hurrying through the dark funeral home like teenagers fleeing the scene of a prank gone wrong.

Joey was already outside in the lot, doubled over beside the car, breathing hard and looking pale.

Zeke made eye contact with Darius as they reached the doors.

“So…” he said. “Back to the drawing board?”

Darius sighed. “Let’s go.”

***

The tires crunched across gravel as Darius pulled out of the Mancuso Funeral Home parking lot. The interior of the car was quiet, save for Joey’s occasional sniffle in the passenger seat and Ronnie’s muffled grumbling from the back. The bloated corpse image had clearly done a number on Joey—he was still pale, hugging his arms to his chest like he might puke if anyone brought it up again.

Darius tapped the steering wheel with one hand and pulled out his phone with the other. He hit Riley’s number out of habit.

It rang once before picking up.

“Yeah?” Riley sounded tired. But alert.

Darius didn’t waste time. “Just checked the funeral home. Nothing. Just some poor workers elbow-deep in somebody’s grandpa.”

“Shit,” Riley muttered. “So it was a dead lead. Pun not intended.”

“We’re heading to the Velvet Room now,” Darius said, glancing at the dash clock. “Should hit Cleveland by eight.”

There was a pause. Then Riley’s voice returned, lower now. “Be careful. But listen—if Ralph’s there? You get him talking. We’re still recording, so we’ll get anything he says. Vinnie’s only a piece of this thing. We still don’t have a full map of the Florida pipeline, and Ralph might know the dirty cop down here greasing the whole operation. Anything he gives up could be critical.”

“I’ll try,” Darius said. “But that place is crawling with muscle. It won’t just be Vinnie ready to kill me on sight—it’s half the security in Cleveland. I burned a lot of bridges when I walked. If Josh is in there…” He swallowed. “It’s gonna be a fucking bloodbath.”

Riley exhaled. “Then make it count.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He hung up.

Joey was staring at him, small and scared, his knees pulled up. The highway on-ramp curved ahead like a tongue of firelight in the dark.

Darius reached over and grabbed Joey’s hand. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ll protect you.”

Immediately, Ronnie snorted in the backseat. “Fucking fags.”

Darius glared at the smug little shit in the backseat. Zeke had hit him a few times already, and Darius had thought about doing it himself a time or two. Was thinking about leaning over the backseat to do it now, actually, then Joey sniffled again and Darius’s gaze slipped back to him.

Joey looked down at their hands, then back up. His voice was hesitant and Darius was already prepared to assure him that his brother was just an asshole…but then, Joey said something else entirely.

“I-I d-don’t want to hurt anyone, but… maybe I—I should learn. If we keep g-g-going into these dangerous situations… I wanna know how to use a g-gun. So I’m not so d-defenseless.”

Darius slowly raised his eyebrows. “What?”

But then, from the back, Zeke piped up brightly. “It’s not so hard, Joey. First time I ever touched a gun was at the surf shop and look how well that went.”

Darius shot him a look in the rearview. “Yeah, and that was rookie’s luck. Be honest—if the safety had been on, would you even know how to turn it off?”

Zeke blinked. “…No.”

Darius cracked a grin. “Didn’t think so.”

Zeke huffed. “Well, next time we have a gun and a minute, you can teach us. Just sayin’.”

“Maybe,” Darius grumbled, but he didn’t like the idea one bit.

“We’ll probably pick one up at this club, anyway,” Zeke added, trying to sound tougher. “If it’s really as dangerous as you say.”

Darius’s grip on the wheel tightened. He nodded once. “Yeah. Probably.”

A beat.

Then Ronnie’s voice broke the silence. “Wait… hold up. You don’t actually have a gun?”

Zeke slowly pulled his hand out of his hoodie pocket and waved it with a grin. “Nope. Just fingers, baby. Sorry to fool you. But don’t get any ideas—we’ll still find a way to kill you if you make a problem. Might take longer. Might be messier. But we’ll manage.”

Ronnie groaned, throwing his head back. “I’m being held hostage by a bunch of fucking idiots. Oh! Wait! That tracks. You’re Joey’s friends. Makes sense now.”

Zeke didn’t hesitate—crack. Sharp and quick, he cuffed Ronnie upside the head again.

“Fucking ow!” Ronnie yelped.

“Keep talking and I’ll hit harder,” Zeke muttered.

In the front seat, Darius sighed, rolling his eyes. Joey glanced over his shoulder, wide-eyed, watching the two of them like a kid watching raccoons fight.

But Darius shook his head, refocusing on the road. The interstate stretched ahead like a river of shadows. The high-rises of Cleveland were distant glimmers on the horizon.

Forty minutes until they reached the Velvet Room.

He didn’t say it out loud, but the plan played again and again in his head like a metronome.

Park a block away. Approach from the side. Use Ronnie as bait. Knock on the side door, let him stand in front of the peep hole… and when it opens—bam.

A clean ambush, if they were lucky.

A massacre, if they weren’t.

Headlights swept across their windshield, briefly illuminating Joey’s pale face. His lips were pressed together. His eyes didn’t blink.

Darius kept driving.

And didn’t let go of Joey’s hand.

They rolled into Cleveland at 8:03pm. Around them, the city glittered like broken glass under moonlight.

Skyscrapers rose like jagged teeth, casting long shadows over the cracked sidewalks and oily streets. People roamed the night, stopping in front of well-lit corner stores, waiting at crosswalks, and walking in little groups between bars. Bright digital billboards flashed colors over the windshields as Darius eased the hybrid into a tight parking spot along the curb, just a block south of the Velvet Room.

Zeke was already hauling Ronnie out of the backseat with a firm grip on his arm and Ronnie winced, blinking against the neon glow that bled across the pavement from the club just up ahead—pinks, reds, deep purples. Music thumped faintly from inside, and a line of people stretched down the sidewalk outside the front entrance, most of them decked out in cheap Halloween costumes.

Ronnie squinted toward the glow. His face tightened.

Zeke caught the look and grinned. “What’s the matter? This the place? This where Josh is?”

Ronnie glared at him. “I don’t know, dumbass. Carmine didn’t tell me anything besides that stupid riddle. And I had to spend three fucking hours memorizing it like some kind of homework assignment. If it wasn’t for the payout, I’d have told him to fuck off.”

They started walking.

Joey trailed beside them, arms crossed, voice quiet. “So that’s what you got for turning in Josh? M-money?”

Ronnie turned his head. “That and Vinnie’s protection. Two feds came by my check-cashing spot last week, asking questions about you. About my association with Vinnie and the family. I need to protect my ass. Josh would do the same thing if he was in my position.”

Joey frowned, shaking his head. “J-Josh isn’t perfect. But he’d never be in a position like yours. He’d n-never sell out his family like this.”

Ronnie scoffed. “Yeah, right. Maybe not for the mob. But he’d sell you out for pills in a heartbeat. He’s a worthless junkie.”

Zeke’s fingers clenched tighter around Ronnie’s arm. “And you’re the one who got him hooked. You started it. So what the hell does that make you?”

Ronnie huffed and looked away. “This is what I get for trying to explain myself to a bunch of children.”

Darius let out a low laugh. “Children?” He smirked. “That’s rich, Ronnie. I’ve seen more maturity from kids playing Call of Duty than I’ve seen from you in ten minutes.”

Ronnie fell silent, muttering curses under his breath.

The music from the club grew louder as they rounded the block, turning into a narrow alley lined with dumpsters and tagged bricks. The club’s side entrance loomed ahead—unmarked, steel-plated, and far from the main crowd.

It was Friday. Halloween weekend. The perfect distraction.

People wrapped in wings and devil horns passed by the front entrance in a steady stream, oblivious to the side-door tension just steps away.

Darius raised a hand, motioning for the group to stop just before the door. “Alright. Ronnie—you’re up.”

Ronnie hesitated. “I’m not expected. They might not let me in.”

Zeke gave him a little shove.

Ronnie grumbled, stepping forward, and raised his fist.

Knock. Knock.

Two knocks. The coded rhythm echoed off the alley walls.

The group held still.

Breathless. Listening. Waiting.

Then, the side door creaked open.

Darius didn’t hesitate. He lunged.

The guy behind the door—a stocky guard in a skeleton hoodie—barely got a word out before Darius slammed into him, wrestling the gun from his hands. One heartbeat. Two.

BANG—BANG—BANG.

Three rounds to the gut.

The guard staggered backward, blood blooming through his hoodie like spilled ink before he crumpled to the floor with a wet gasp.

Darius waited just a second to make sure he was done before he signaled the others forward.

Zeke gave a low, impressed whistle as he shoved Ronnie over the body. “Damn.”

Joey made a soft, strangled sound and hurried after them.

“Move,” Darius hissed, waving them forward with the stolen weapon.

The hallway beyond the door was narrow and dim, painted in pulsing hues from overhead club lights bleeding through air vents. Darius took the lead, creeping forward with sharp precision, every sense on edge.

Footsteps echoed ahead. Darius already had his weapon raised.

Two more guys rounded the corner ahead—and barely had time to shout before BAM—BAM. Two perfect headshots.

The bodies hit the ground in near unison.

Darius crouched, grabbing both weapons without missing a beat. He handed one back. “Zeke.”

Zeke snatched it up, grinning. “Oh yeah. It’s on now.”

Darius handed the second to Joey. “Just hold it for now, okay? It’s just for show.”

Joey’s hands trembled as he took it. “O-okay.”

They moved as one down the corridor—Zeke eagerly prodding Ronnie forward with the barrel of his new toy. Ronnie groaned. “Fucking amateur.”

But then—they reached the edge of the main club.

They stopped just in the doorway. Here, the music thumped louder. The floor beneath their feet began to vibrate.

The Velvet Room had been transformed for the holiday.

Neon lights splashed the walls in purples and greens. Cobwebs and black roses adorned the booths. Fake gravestones lined the stage. Strippers in devil horns and zombie schoolgirl outfits writhed to pulsing bass as patrons cheered and tossed money like confetti. It was packed. Friday night—Halloween weekend. Of course it was packed.

Darius held up a hand as he paused, wordlessly signaling the others to wait as he slowly scanned the crowd.

Too many faces. Too many weapons probably tucked under jackets and inside waistbands.

Then—he spotted him.

Ralph Vance.

He was alone. Seated at a dark booth in the far corner. Some random Halloween mask pushed up on his head. One hand cradled a glass as he watched the chaos with bored eyes.

“There,” Darius said, pointing. “It’s Ralph.”

Zeke’s voice cut through the beat. “What about Josh?!”

But there was no time to answer.

Gunfire erupted behind them.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

More of Vinnie’s men. Charging down the hallway they’d just come from—no hesitation—spraying bullets into the crowd.

Darius spun. “Get down!”

He shoved Zeke sideways, tackled Joey, and yanked him behind a row of overturned tables as panic exploded around them. Screams erupted. Glass shattered. People scattered in all directions—toppling furniture, falling into stripper poles, stampeding for the exits.

Across the room, Zeke dragged Ronnie down behind a half-crushed velvet booth, gun raised wildly, lips moving in panicked curses. Darius prayed he wouldn’t get himself killed.

But he couldn’t think about that now.

Because Ralph was right fucking there.

And so was every guy with a gun in the building—fanning out across the club like sharks tasting blood.

Joey whimpered beside him, clutching the gun with both hands, eyes wide and wet and terrified.

Darius crouched low, heart hammering, ears ringing from the echoes of the screams.

He looked at Ralph. Cowering under his table. Glancing around. Then, they locked eyes.

Darius nodded once.

They had to get to him.

Now.

Bullets screamed through the air as Darius wrapped his arms around Joey. He stood them up, shielding him with his own body, then he rushed them forward—shoving through the chaos and across the room, dodging low behind the bar as a spray of rounds split a nearby table and sent two patrons who’d been hiding behind it crashing to the floor in a mess of blood and shattered glass.

Joey screamed as the man in a devil mask fell at his feet, his gut split open like raw meat, his eyes staring glassy up at the ceiling.

The gun slipped from Joey’s hands.

“Pick it up!” Darius barked.

Joey blinked, face ghost-white, and stooped to grab it, shaking so hard the muzzle trembled in his grip.

More movement. Darius spotted Vinnie’s men trying to flank them—rounding the side of the bar like jackals.

“Come on!” Darius yanked Joey by the collar and pulled him over the bar top just as bullets stitched the wall where they’d stood. Bottles exploded above their heads and Joey yelled as glass rained around them like razors.

They landed hard in the fallen glass, Joey gasping in pain, Darius grunting as his shoulder throbbed. But he was already moving. He grabbed Joey by the arm, then pulled him last few yards to Ralph’s booth, sliding them under cover.

Ralph jolted as they entered the tiny space, startled, nearly dropping his drink. “What the hell—D?! Are you crazy?! Vinnie’s out for your blood!”

“Yeah. We know.” Darius was panting, blood seeping through the sleeve of his jacket. “The reception so far’s been great,” he added dryly, gesturing over his shoulder at the mess back at the bar.

Ralph just gawked at him. “Why are you here?”

Darius took a deep breath. “We’re working with the feds now. And they want to talk to you too.”

Ralph froze. “The feds? No. Hell no. I don’t trust those bastards for shit.”

Darius jerked a thumb toward the bodies littering the club. “You trust them more? Look around. Vinnie’s guys are shooting everyone. No rhyme. No reason.”

Ralph cursed under his breath and pushed a hand through his thinning hair. His face was slick with sweat, but there was something else in his eyes—fear… and doubt. “Lately… I don’t even know anymore. Vinnie’s gotten too power-hungry. Half of us are choking under his bullshit.”

“Then take the out while it’s still on the table.” Darius leaned in. “Come forward. Talk. The feds are offering immunity. Same deal they gave us.”

Ralph’s gaze drifted. Landed on Joey.

Trembling. Pale. Gun clutched to his chest.

“This the Balas kid?” Ralph asked quietly.

Joey didn’t answer.

Darius did. “Yeah. But don’t blame this on him. This shit was already boiling. He just… made it boil over. Vinnie… he’s corrupt. You know he was behind Leon’s disappearance. Don’t lie.”

Ralph’s jaw flexed. “...Yeah. I know.”

“Then help us.”

Ralph sighed. “The pipeline? The stuff in Florida?”

“Exactly.”

“Of course that’s what you want. And its all locked down. Top secret. Everything good’s back in my office. But… maybe Vinnie’s got some backups in his upstairs.”

“Then that’s where we go,” Darius said, his mind made up.

Suddenly—CRASH!

The table flipped. One of Vinnie’s guys stood over them, eyes narrowed.

Joey screamed, and in a panic, he pulled the trigger.

A round slammed into the man’s chest. He staggered back, then dropped to the floor.

A second guy came right behind him, his weapon already raised, but Darius was faster. CRACK. Headshot.

But pain bloomed in Darius’s shoulder—sharp, hot. The second guy had clipped him. But he didn’t care.

“Joey—you okay?” he barked.

Joey was staring at the man he’d shot, eyes wide in horror. “I—I killed him—”

“No time!” Darius hissed. He grabbed Ralph by the arm and yanked him upright. “We’re going upstairs.”

Footsteps thundered toward them.

Zeke and Ronnie appeared from the smoke and strobe lights—wild-eyed, splattered in blood.

Zeke was grinning like a maniac. “We got three of them! I shot two! Ronnie—tell him!”

Ronnie looked sick. “One of them thought I was on your side. Came at me. I—I hit him with a bottle. In the face. There… was a lot of blood.”

Then he turned green and puked all over the floor.

Darius wrinkled his nose. “Goddamn.” Frowning, he turned back to Ralph. “We’re going to Vinnie’s office. You said there might be info up there.”

Ralph nodded, looking pale. “Yeah. Maybe. I’ve seen him typing shit in sometimes, paranoid as hell.”

Zeke whined, “But what about Josh?!”

“We’ll look as we go,” Darius snapped. “But he’s not here. I can feel it. This place—it’s wrong. But the data? That could still be worth something.”

Zeke scowled but nodded. “Fine. But make it fast. We’ve still gotta find Josh.”

Darius nodded back, then turned—leading them out of the wreckage, blood on their shoes, past fallen strippers, gangsters, civilians.

They were going deeper.

To the heart of the beast.

The beaded curtain clacked behind them, muffling the shouts and the still pumping music from the club floor.

The back hallway beyond was narrow, lined with faded wallpaper and scuffed tile, dimly lit by a buzzing fluorescent bulb overhead. Four doors lined the hallway, three on the right, one on the left. A spiral of dread built quickly in Darius’s chest. The entrance to the stairs, and Vinnie’s private office, where he really wanted to go, was at the end of the hall, but Zeke was already nudging Ronnie toward the first door on the right. Darius flanked them reluctantly.

The first room was a cramped manager’s office, reeking of cigar smoke and sweat. Generic desk, chair overturned, empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. No signs of Josh.

The second door was a security office, full of grainy monitors and a stack of VHS tapes. One monitor was still flickering between camera feeds—bar, back alley, locker room. But no sign of Josh. Zeke kicked over a folding chair in frustration.

The third door on the left was a large dressing room, lit by dusty vanity bulbs. Feathered costumes strewn about, a glittery bra on the sink. Joey lingered at the door, hopeful—maybe someone had seen Josh. But it was empty. No blood. No struggle. Just eerie silence.

The fourth room was for storage. Crates of liquor, old speakers, lighting rigs, and unopened boxes of Halloween décor were scattered amidst tall metal shelves stacked with other miscellaneous gear. Darius peered inside, but again, no sign of Josh.

Then—

Gunfire erupted from the hallway.

Darius spun and shoved Joey and Ralph hard into the storage room as bullets tore through the doorframe behind them.

Darius dived in next, just as Zeke and Ronnie crashed through after him—Zeke with a furious curse, Ronnie shrieking in fear.

CRACK!

A bullet grazed Zeke’s cheek, flaying open a ragged line of red across his face. “Fuck!” he howled, dropping behind a stack of crates, blood streaming down his face like war paint.

Another round ricocheted off the metal shelving and slammed into Ronnie’s upper arm as he ducked behind Zeke, tearing through muscle and cloth. He screamed and staggered into the surfer boy, clutching his elbow with a high, panicked sound.

Darius pushed Joey through the narrow shelves and toward cover behind a tall stack of boxes near the back wall. Ralph stumbled behind him, eyes wide, hands shaking, his expensive dress shoes slipping on broken glass.

Darius crouched and pressed his back to a crate. Bullets thudded into the wood beside him, sending splinters raining down like confetti. He peeked around the edge—two enemies front left, just outside the door, three more trying to flank them by a broken bar cart.

He turned back to Joey, who was frozen beside Ralph, holding the pistol like it was going to bite him.

“Hey,” Darius said. Calm, commanding. “Eyes on me.”

Joey blinked. His breathing was shallow. His whole body was trembling.

“You wanted to learn, right?” Darius said, low and firm. “This is the best way I know how to teach. On the job.”

“I—I can’t—I’m not—” Joey’s voice cracked.

“You can,” Darius said. “Just breathe. Safety’s off. Keep it low. Don’t close your eyes when you pull. Aim center mass and don’t hesitate.”

He took Joey’s hands and gently adjusted his grip. His fingers were ice-cold. “If not for yourself, then for Ralph. For Josh. For me.”

Joey swallowed hard. And nodded.

Darius turned back just in time to see one of the guys charging into the room. Zeke, crouched behind the crates, popped up and dropped the bastard with a headshot that sprayed blood across the side wall.

Darius didn’t wait—he surged forward and fired three controlled shots. Two more down—one caught in the sternum, the other staggered backward with a round in the thigh before Darius ended him with the third shot.

That left two.

The second to last edged into the room and took cover behind a shelf near the entrance. He waited a beat, checking his gun, then he charged for Zeke and Ronnie behind the crate. But Zeke popped up again, surprisingly efficient, tagging the guy three times in the chest so he fell dramatically into one of the boxes of Halloween decorations, orange streamers and purple glitter spilling onto the floor and mixing with his blood.

Then, the final guy came barreling in from the side. He avoided Zeke and cut straight through the shelves, gun raised, eyes locked on Ralph who stood right out in the open.

Joey gasped. Froze.

But Darius grabbed Joey’s shoulder. “Do it now!”

Joey flinched, fired—but missed.

The man aimed right at Ralph’s chest and Ralph threw his hands up, his face going white.

Darius shoved Joey’s arms up—“Again!”

Joey screamed—and fired a second time.

And this time the shot landed—square in the shoulder. The man screamed, staggered into some shelves—and Darius finished him with a shot through the ribs.

Then silence.

Five bodies.

Blood slicked the concrete floor, staining the cardboard and pooling beneath boxes of club merch and cheap booze. The air reeked of gunpowder and copper, hot and heavy in the back of their throats.

Zeke let out a shaky laugh as he stood up. “Holy shit! We got ‘em!” He wiped his cheek on his sleeve, smearing blood like war paint. “Dude—this is gonna leave such a cool scar.”

Ronnie didn’t look so thrilled. He slid down against the wall, his arm still bleeding heavily, his breath sharp and wet. “Vinnie’s gonna fucking kill me. I stood by and watched this shit…”

Zeke snorted, checking his gun. “And what do we care for?”

Ronnie didn’t answer—just winced and held his arm, sweat dripping off his pale face.

Darius was already looting ammo from the bodies, swapping mags and checking chambers. He tossed a fresh clip to Zeke. “Check your mag.”

To Joey, he paused and his voice softened. “You did good. You’re still alive.”

Joey sat back, stunned, breathing hard—but steadier now. He looked at Ralph. At Darius. Then down at the blood on his hands. His hands.

“I h-hit him,” he murmured. “I actually hit h-him.”

“You saved Ralph’s life,” Darius said. “Be proud of that.”

Ralph gave Joey a long, shell-shocked look. “Kid’s got grit,” he said, hoarsely. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Darius stood, offered Ralph a hand. “Stick close. We’re heading upstairs.”

The hallway beyond the door had gone eerily quiet.

But Darius knew better. The quiet never lasted long.

Outside the storage room, the slipped up the stairs at the back of the hallway. As they ascended, the wood creaked under their feet.

Ronnie was the first one up, wincing slightly, still clutching his wounded arm as Zeke herded him up, gun at his back, his newly-loaded weapon gripped like a toy he couldn’t wait to use again.

Darius, bringing up the rear with Joey and Ralph, called up dryly, “So, Zeke—how the hell are you this good with a gun if you’ve never handled one before?”

Zeke barked a laugh over his shoulder. “Dude! I play Halo. Didn’t you see the console in my room?”

Darius raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Seriously!” Zeke said, grinning. “I used to be into it big time in high school—Halo, Gears of War, Call of Duty, Battlefield 3—the whole goddamn lineup. But when I graduated, I… had other things on my mind. Going pro in surfing, mainly, and I gave it up. But when you left me—four years ago? I was going out of my fucking mind. Bored out of my skull. One day I just walked to the pawn shop and bought a used Xbox and a stack of old shooters. Haven’t looked back since.”

Darius rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky digital reflexes translate.”

Zeke just laughed again as they reached the second floor.

Up here, it was quiet. Dimly lit, but on purpose. It was a design feature of the wall sconces. There was a small bathroom to the left, unremarkable, door half open and across the hallway, Vinnie’s private office.

Darius kicked the door open unceremoniously.

It swung inward to reveal a room, luckily, empty. One that was both gaudy and expensive. The thick burgundy carpet muffled their steps. Gold trim edged every piece of furniture. A leather couch sat beneath a huge oil painting of Vinnie himself—shirtless and posed like some Roman conqueror. Ridiculous.

The desk was sleek and modern, chrome and mahogany. A powerful-looking desktop computer glowed in sleep mode beside a tray of Cuban cigars and a nearly empty bottle of Scotch.

Darius jerked his chin at it. “Get on. Find anything on the Florida pipeline. There’s gotta be something—trade’s still booming down there.”

Ralph moved to the desk, limping slightly. His hands hovered over the mouse. “After Leon… disappeared, Vinnie came to me personally. Told me we were continuing the partnership with the Carillos.” He looked up at Darius, his eyes dark. “Told me to keep it secret. Swore me to silence under threat of death. I’m risking my life just telling you this. You know that, right?”

Darius nodded, solemn. “I know. That’s why we’re here.”

Joey and Zeke were drifting around the room now, touching little things, studying Vinnie’s self-obsessed décor. Ronnie collapsed into a velvet armchair, his face bone white as he unzipped his jacket. Blood had soaked the whole sleeve. Grimacing, he began wrapping the jacket around his wound, wincing with each movement.

Ralph stared at the screen, then began typing.

“I know the password to get in,” he said. “But I’m willing to bet everything deeper’s locked up tighter. Vinnie’s paranoid. Everything important is double-encrypted. Hell, the guy he had set it up? He had Carmine take him out personally. Said he had the wrong kind of smile.”

Darius frowned, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, as he watched the man work.

At his office across town, the plaque on Ralph’s door read: RALPH VANCE – Financial Strategy & Compliance Officer.

Officially, he was the Mancuso family’s money man—bookkeeping, creative taxes, all that. But really, he was their fixer—the guy who made numbers disappear and liabilities go away. If Carmine broke someone’s legs, Ralph buried the paper trail.

He’d been with the Mancusos for over twenty years, longer than Nina, longer than Darius. He’d started back when Vinnie’s father still ran things—and when Leon had real power. Back then, in Ralph’s opinion, the family had class. Structure. Discipline.

But when Vinnie took over?

Things changed.

The brutality escalated. The money got sloppy. The alliances got thin. Ralph never loved Vinnie. He was like Darius. He just… didn’t know any other way. He was invested.

When Leon first brought Darius thirteen years ago, Ralph had been intrigued. Darius was a quiet guy. Cold eyes. Sharp mind. Not like the others. Darius kept his head down and got things done. Ralph respected that.

He'd done favors for Darius over the years—not because they were friends, but because Ralph recognized value. He was the kind of man who hedged his bets. And Darius was a solid investment.

Just weeks ago, he’d warned Darius about Milo and Carmine poking around to see if the “messenger boy”—Joey—was really dead. That call had saved both of them.

And before that? Two years ago, Darius had taken a bullet for Vinnie during a drop in Toledo. The cops were sniffing around afterward, and Darius needed to disappear for a few days. It was Ralph who’d forged the hospital discharge records, listed Darius as “Tony Ferrara,” and stashed him in a hotel under a fake insurance claim.

They weren’t friends. They didn’t get drinks. But there was mutual respect. And now? Darius was actually relieved Ralph was choosing to flip. It meant something was still salvageable.

They all deserved this—him, Nina, Ralph—a final exit from Vinnie’s hell.

Back in the present, Ralph typed something as the desktop loaded, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, glaring at the computer. “…Password’s wrong.”

Darius came up behind him, arms crossed. “Try again.”

“I did. Either he changed it or—”

Ralph hesitated, then typed again. His fingers trembled slightly on the keys. The screen flashed Invalid Password. One more attempt.

“Fuck,” Darius said grimly. “You did it exactly the same? No mess ups?”

“I wouldn’t mess up on something like this,” Ralph said dryly, his hands hovering over the keyboard, sweat dotting his brow. “I don’t know if I should risk it or not…”

Darius stared hard at the screen, then at him. “Do you know any old ones? Anything Vinnie used to use? Birthday? Wedding date? His fucking dog’s name?”

Ralph hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Maybe he rotates them… like he used to.”

He typed an older code—slowly. They both held their breaths as he hit Enter.

The screen blinked.

Then everything went blue.

A full-screen message popped up:

SECURITY PROTOCOL ENGAGED

DRIVE MEMORY PURGE IN PROGRESS.

“Shit!” Ralph shouted, lurching forward like he could stop it.

“Jesus Christ,” Zeke said, stepping up beside Darius. “What just happened?”

Darius exhaled through his nose, hard. “The system was rigged to wipe if the password was entered wrong three times.”

“Oh c-crap,” Joey said, appearing on Darius’s other side. “That was b-bad right?”

Ralph clutched his head. “Damnit! I told him to add a failsafe but I didn’t think he’d actually do it…”

Zeke whistled. “Ruthless bastard.”

Ralph stood up, rattled but still thinking. “My office. We can go there. I've got newer backups, better records. It’s what the feds would want—”

The door slammed open and three of Vinnie’s men barreled in.

The first one fired immediately—three rounds straight to Ralph’s chest.

The bullets slammed into him, jerking him backward into the desk chair like a ragdoll. Blood sprayed the monitor and floor.

“NO!” Darius roared, already raising his weapon.

He fired—BOOM!—his bullet shattered the first man’s jaw, tearing through bone and sinew, slamming him sideways into the wall.

Joey spun, heart pounding, as another man leveled a gun at him.

“Joey!” Zeke shouted, already raising his weapon—without hesitation, he took out the man with two tight shots.

Joey aimed shakily at the last guy and pulled the trigger.

Miss.

The man swerved right, recovered, then charged straight for Joey.

“Again Joey!” Darius barked, yanking Joey’s arm to steady the gun.

Joey fired again, hit the guy in the leg, and the man howled and stumbled into the couch. Joey pulled the trigger again—gut shot, this time—then once more, and the bullet hit him square in the chest, dropping him instantly so he sagged into the furniture.

Silence fell as the three nameless bodies cooled on the floor.

And Ralph slumped in the chair, blood bubbling at his lips, soaking through his once-pristine dress shirt, gasped raggedly for breath.

Ronnie peeked out from behind the velvet armchair, his good hand white-knuckled around the cushion. “Jesus…” he muttered as Darius dropped to his knees in front of Ralph.

“Hey. Stay with me, Ralph.”

Zeke stepped beside Darius, breathless, sweat running down his neck. “Darius… anything you want to ask him before he… y’know?”

Darius stared into Ralph’s fading eyes. His mind flashed to Agent Riley. The one thing he’d mentioned more than once.

“The dirty cop,” Darius said hoarsely. “In Charleston. Who’s greasing the pipeline down there? Who helped cover Leon’s murder?”

Ralph gasped. His lips moved… and then sound. “…Hollis.”

“Hollis what?”

“Detective Jacob Hollis. He’s… he’s a slippery son of a bitch. He’ll lie, cheat, burn evidence, whatever it takes. He’s been on Vinnie’s payroll for years. Covered up Leon’s death like it was nothing.”

Darius leaned closer. “Anything else?”

Ralph gave a final, shallow breath. “Just… don’t let Vinnie win.”

And then he went still.

Darius closed Ralph’s eyes and gently ran a hand over his blood-matted hair. “…Fuck me.”

Zeke tapped his chest, breathing hard as he indicated the wire still under his hoodie. “At least we got that on record.”

Darius nodded, distant. Processing. Then he looked to the others. “We need to make a side trip.”

Zeke turned sharply. “What? What the hell for?”

“You heard him. Right before he got shot, Ralph said his office has better records. Florida pipeline, the works. If we move fast, we can get there before Vinnie wipes it too. Could be a drive, backups, anything.”

Zeke threw his hands in the air. “But what about Josh!? He’s tied up, probably starving, maybe bleeding to death! We don’t have time—”

Darius grabbed his shoulders. “We don’t know where to go next, Zeke. I don’t know the other Mancuso businesses off the top of my head. But I do know someone who can help.”

Zeke blinked.

“Nina,” Darius said. “She’ll have access to the Mancuso property records. If we get her on the phone, she can pull the full list and we’ll cross-reference it with Ronnie’s riddle.”

Zeke exhaled hard, frustrated but nodding. “…That’s actually smart.”

They all looked back at Ralph.

Darius lingered a moment longer, swallowing hard. “I wanted a better ending for him.”

Zeke murmured, “Maybe he got one.”

Darius looked at him.

“He died on our side,” Zeke said. “Trusting you.”

A quiet beat.

Then, Darius nodded once. He turned and grabbed Joey in a tight embrace. “Let’s go.”

Behind them, Zeke yanked Ronnie out from behind the armchair.

Ronnie yelped, his wounded arm jolted. “Ow! You don’t need to yank me around, damnit! I’m coming, I’m coming!” His eyes were wide. Glassy. Scared. “Not like I’ve got a choice anyway. I’m already in this shit too deep to get out now,” he muttered, voice cracking.

For a second, Darius almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

But then he remembered: Josh was still missing. Still suffering. And Ronnie was the reason they were all here in the first place.

Darius firmed his jaw and pulled Joey gently toward the door.

And Zeke and Ronnie followed.

They walked back through the blood-soaked club, the scent of gunpowder and perfume still thick in the air. Joey clung to Darius’s side, his face buried in the collar of Darius’s hoodie to avoid the gruesome sight of strewn bodies—gang members, half-naked dancers, patrons caught in the chaos.

It was like walking through the wreckage of a nightmare.

Darius guided him gently, one hand wrapped around his shoulder as they pushed through the side hall, the flickering “EMPLOYEES ONLY” sign overhead casting eerie shadows on the wall.

Outside, the cool night air hit them like a slap.

Darius muttered, “C’mon,” and broke into a jog, pulling Joey with him.

Zeke kept pace just behind them, and further back, Ronnie limped and wheezed, trying to keep up. His arm was soaked in blood from the earlier firefight, and every few steps he let out a groan of pain.

Zeke slowed down, turning around with a wicked grin. “What’s the holdup, old man? Dead weight back there?”

“Go to hell,” Ronnie panted. “And we’re the same age, dipshit.”

“What’s that?” Zeke backpedaled, jogging beside him now just to rub it in, his grin widening. “Come on, Ronnie. Isn’t this fun? A little payback mixed with some cardio.”

He slung an arm over Ronnie’s shoulders, leaning his full weight into the man, which made Ronnie stumble with a shout of pain.

“Zeke!” Joey cried, glancing back. “L-leave him alone! He’s already s-suffering.”

Zeke gave Joey a wicked look. “Can’t you enjoy just a little revenge?”

Joey shook his head, slowing as they reached the car. “Not really. It j-just makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like s-seeing people suffer.”

Darius pulled Joey closer and bent down, pressing a warm, steady kiss to his forehead. “I know,” he whispered. “That’s what makes you better than the rest of us.”

Joey’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and when they opened again, Darius was unlocking the car and helping him gently inside.

Zeke, on the other hand, flung the back door open and shoved Ronnie inside with zero grace.

“Watch it—fuck!” Ronnie growled, clutching his arm.

Zeke smirked. “You’ll live.”

Once everyone was inside and the doors slammed shut, Darius slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out his phone.

As he started the engine, his thumb tapped Nina’s name.

The phone rang twice before Nina answered, her voice bright with laughter.

“Hey, D! Sorry—I just got the funniest text from Cameron. Couldn’t help it.”

Darius blinked. “Agent Cameron Riley? Wow. So… things are going well?”

“Yeah,” Nina said, her voice softening. “We’ve been texting since we left that motel in West Virginia. He’s… sweet. I’ve agreed to give my testimony, by the way and I’m officially in the witness protection program. They’re gonna relocate me from my friend’s place here in Virginia soon, but I don’t know where yet.”

She paused, then added with a smile in her voice, “And maybe… maybe Cameron will take me on a real date once I’m settled. We’ve already been talking about it.”

Darius let out a tired sigh but smiled. “That’s great, Nina. You deserve that. But… we’re still knee-deep in Ohio.”

“What happened?” Nina asked, immediately serious.

“Ralph’s dead,” Darius said flatly. “We were trying to get into Vinnie’s computer when he got shot. He gave us the name of the dirty cop in Charleston before he bled out—Jacob Hollis. Said he helped cover up Leon’s murder. Real slippery bastard. But Ralph mentioned his office might have more files. We’re heading there now.”

Nina gasped. “God. Poor Ralph. He was a snake, but one of the best really. A good guy, in his own right, too… damn.”

Darius nodded silently. “He almost made it out.”

“I’m telling you,” she said, her voice lowering, “Vinnie’s been worse since you left the family. Paranoid. Paranoid and precise. No loose ends. You’d better hurry.”

Darius’s tone dropped to something harder. “We will. But there’s another problem. Josh—Joey’s brother—he’s been taken. Vinnie’s using him as bait. We know he’s being held at a Mancuso commercial property, but that’s it. We already cleared the funeral home and the club.”

“You want me to pull the property records?” Nina asked, already ahead of him.

“Yeah,” Darius said. “Send me the list when you get it.”

“I’m on it,” she replied. “Expect a text by morning. It… might take me a minute. I’ll have to call in a few favors for this one.”

“Alright,” Darius said, then hesitated. “And… congrats. With Cameron, I mean. He seems level-headed. Solid.”

Nina laughed softly. “Thanks for the encouragement. But I’m a grown-ass woman, D. I make my own decisions.”

Darius chuckled, a genuine sound for the first time in hours. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Be safe, D,” Nina said, and hung up.

Darius stared at the phone for a second longer than necessary, his expression soft, almost wistful.

In the car around him, silence had taken over.

Joey was curled into himself in the front seat, face pale, eyes far away. Zeke was in the back, arms crossed, bouncing one knee. Ronnie groaned quietly beside him, clutching his shoulder. Everyone was still riding the adrenaline crash, hearts heavy, nerves frayed.

Darius took a breath and tapped a new contact.

Agent Cameron Riley.

He pressed the phone to his ear as the call connected—and they turned onto the quiet, shadowed street where Ralph’s office waited ahead.

Riley picked up on the first ring.

“I’m sorry about Ralph,” he said immediately, voice low but firm. “We’re already on scene. It’s… a bloodbath. Just like you predicted.”

Darius let out a breath through his nose, watching the road blur past. “Yeah, but Josh wasn’t even there.”

There was a pause. “But you did get that name I wanted.”

“Detective Jacob Hollis,” Darius said, jaw tight. “Down in Charleston. That’s the dirty cop that’s covering up the Florida partnership. The guy that’s keeping Leon’s death under wraps.”

“Got it,” Riley replied. “Good work, Darius. That’s a hell of a name to drop.”

But Darius didn’t feel victorious. He didn’t feel much of anything at all. “We’re heading to Ralph’s office now. He said his drives had better info than anything on Vinnie’s computer.”

Riley perked up. “Great. Let’s meet up directly after. You hand over the drive, we move this thing forward.”

But just then—Darius turned the corner and his heart stopped.

“Jesus Christ!” he barked into the phone, slamming the brakes. The car jolted and everyone inside jerked forward.

The building ahead—Ralph’s office—was completely engulfed in flames.

Smoke curled into the night sky in thick plumes. Orange light flickered wildly against the nearby buildings. The blaze was eating through the roof now like wildfire, collapsing one beam at a time.

“Ralph’s office is on fire,” Darius said hoarsely into the phone. “It’s—it’s gone. The whole thing’s up. It’s gotta be Vinnie.”

He could hear Riley cursing on the other end, but the line crackled—and then went dead.

They rolled into the lot and stopped a safe distance away, piling out silently to watch the blaze. For a few seconds, no one said a word. The flames roared. Glass exploded. Wood hissed as it was consumed. The night smelled of gasoline.

From far off came the shriek of approaching firetrucks, but it was already too late.

The upper floor, where Ralph’s office would’ve been, caved in with a groan and a crash.

Suddenly, Ronnie broke the silence.

He chuckled—low, broken, bitter. “Vinnie’s already on it. Destroying the evidence before anyone else can get their grimy hands on it…. He’s been one step ahead of you stupid fucks this whole time!”

Zeke snapped.

He surged forward and shoved Ronnie hard, sending him sprawling backward onto the pavement. Ronnie landed with a grunt and lay there, cradling his injured arm, eyes wild with pain and helpless rage.

Then, he started wailing into the night. Like a spoiled, overgrown baby.

No one helped him up.

They just stared.

Darius’s phone beeped once—then nothing. No bars. No signal.

He looked down at it. At the dead screen. Just like Ralph was dead. And all the evidence he died for—burned to ashes.

He sagged forward, leaning against the hood of the car, hands braced wide. His shoulders shook, not with tears—but with the kind of exhaustion that came from trying so hard, for so long, only to lose again.

Joey appeared at his side. Quiet, like a shadow.

He wrapped himself against Darius’s arm, laying his head on his shoulder. “Wh-what now?” he whispered.

Darius stared at the flames, then shook his head. “We wait. For Riley. For Nina to send that list of properties.” He sighed. “Maybe we find another room. Get some sleep.”

Zeke groaned loudly behind them, kicking a pebble into the dirt. “I don’t wanna fucking go to sleep!”

Darius glanced down at his phone. 9:08 p.m. Not that late. But it felt like 4 a.m. His shoulder still ached. His head pounded. His soul hurt.

“Let’s just grab something to eat, then,” he said, straightening up. “I didn’t eat much of Linda’s hamburger helper earlier.”

Zeke snorted. “I gave the leftovers to the dogs.”

Joey blinked at him, hurt. “You d-didn’t like my mom’s h-hamburger helper?”

Darius and Zeke, in perfect unison: “No, no!”

“It was just—really filling,” Zeke continued, patting his stomach.

“Yeah. Couldn’t eat that much,” Darius added, nodding seriously.

Joey chuckled and leaned into Darius again, satisfied. “I really wish we could get a room, though,” he said softly. “Even just for a little while. I know Josh is still missing, but…”

“I know,” Darius said, turning his face into Joey’s hair. He kissed the bridge of his nose gently. “I’m tired too.”

He glanced past Joey to Zeke, who was now pacing. “We’ll see about convincing him after food. We’re not even expecting that list from Nina till morning. We’ve got time. But first… we wait for Riley. He’ll be here. Soon.”

Joey nodded, wrapping his arms around Darius’s waist like a blanket.

Darius held him close, eyes on the flames licking higher in the sky.

And the fire roared on, consuming everything that Ralph had left behind, smoke curling endlessly like a question mark into the stars.