The child came through the hedge on a Tuesday afternoon like she had decided the gap was there specifically for her.

The Grand Ballroom of the East Pier Terminal was filled with smoke, cognac, and thirty of the most powerful men in the Midwest crime syndicate.

At the head of the long oak conference table sat Marcus Sterling. He was wearing a three-thousand-dollar tailored grey suit, a golden signet ring sparkling on his finger as he raised a crystal glass to the gathered captains.

"Luca Costello was a great leader," Marcus announced, his voice booming over the speakers. "But as you all know, his health has taken a tragic turn. His doctors inform me he will not survive the week. It is time for this family to look forward. It is time to officially pass the mantle."

Several captains nodded solemnly. Marcus smiled, preparing to slide the master dock manifests toward himself.

BANG!

The double steel doors at the back of the ballroom shattered off their hinges, crashing onto the marble floor.

The room went dead silent. Every captain stood up, hands reaching instinctively for shoulder holsters.

Through the drifting smoke stepped Luca Costello.

He walked with a heavy mahogany cane in his left hand, his posture straight as a ramrod, his eyes burning with absolute, deadly authority. Flanking him were Mateo and twenty heavily armed estate guards in black body armor.

"Luca...?" Marcus gasped, dropping his crystal glass. It shattered against the floor, spraying scotch across his expensive leather shoes. "What... how is this possible?!"

Luca walked down the center aisle, the metallic tap of his cane echoing through the silent hall like the ticking of a death clock.

"Did you really think a few drops of thallium could kill me, Marcus?" Luca asked, his voice ringing clearly across the ballroom.

The gathered captains gasped, turning to stare at Marcus in shock.

"He's lying!" Marcus shrieked, his face turning pale as ash. "He's insane! He's had a mental breakdown!"

Luca stopped three feet from the head of the table. He reached into his coat and tossed a digital recorder and a stack of medical documents onto the table.

"Dr. Paulson's full confession," Luca stated coldly. "Along with the toxicological reports from Johns Hopkins. For twelve years, Marcus Sterling poisoned my food to keep me in a wheelchair while he stole fifty million dollars from the dockworkers' union fund."

The oldest captain in the room, Frankie "The Hammer" Lucchesi, picked up the files. He scanned the toxicology reports, his brow furrowing deeper with every line.

Frankie looked up at Marcus, his eyes cold as flint. "Is this true, Marcus?"

"No! It's a setup!" Marcus roared. In a moment of pure, desperate panic, Marcus pulled a nickel-plated revolver from his coat waistband, aiming it straight at Luca's chest. "I built this empire! Not him!"

THWIP!

Luca didn't even blink. Mateo's silenced pistol barked from behind him.

Marcus stiffened. A small red hole appeared in the center of his forehead. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed backward over his mahogany chair, crashing onto the floor behind the head table.

Silence descended upon the ballroom once more.

Luca slowly turned his gaze across the thirty syndicate bosses standing in the room. Not a single man dared to raise a weapon. Not a single man dared to speak.

Luca leaned slightly on his cane, resting his hands on its mahogany head.