From the catwalks above. From the shadows of the machinery. From the darkness of the maintenance corridor.
Rocco and Brennan.
Volkov freezes. He looks down at his chest. He traces the path of the lasers up into the darkness. He sees the glint of scopes. He sees the barrels.
He realizes he is not the predator in this room. He is the prey.
"Checkmate," Killian says softly.
Volkov looks at Killian. Then at me. A smile touches his lips—cold, impressed.
"Very well."
He places the Makarov on the table. He raises his hands, palms open.
"You have won the city," he says. "For now."
"Get out," I say. "Before I change my mind."
Volkov nods. He signals his men. They holster their weapons. They retreat to the SUVs, their movements disciplined but hurried.
The engines start. The SUVs reverse out of the dry dock, tires spinning on the wet concrete. They disappear into the night.
The dust settles.
Now it is just us. And our fathers. And the soldiers who now know the truth.
Salvatore Falcone steps forward. His face is purple with rage. He looks at me with a hatred I have never seen before.
"You ungrateful?—"
"Stop," Rocco says.
My brother steps out of the shadows on the catwalk. He descends the metal stairs, the boots clanging against the grating. He walks into the light. He stands beside me.
He aims the Benelli shotgun at our father’s feet.
"It’s over, Pop," Rocco says. His voice breaks, just once. "We know."
Padraic looks at Killian. He looks small. Old. Defeated. "Son..."
"Don't," Killian says. "Don't call me that."
"The families need leadership," Salvatore barks, trying to regain control. "You think you can run this? You think you can hold this city together?"
"We already are," I say.
I look at Killian. He looks at me. The connection between us is a physical force.
"The old alliance is dissolved," I say to the room. "The new alliance begins now."
"Under who?" Salvatore demands. "Under whose authority?"
"Under us," Killian says.
He reaches out. He takes my hand. He laces our fingers together in front of everyone—our fathers, our soldiers, the ghosts of the dead men who brought us here.
"Us," he repeats.
