Renzo strode in, clutching a thick manila folder, his face pale and tight with tension. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Vincent Castalano sitting on the floor with a plastic tiara perched haphazardly on his dark, combed-back hair.

“Boss,” Renzo choked out, clearing his throat aggressively. “We have a situation with the docks in Gary. The Syndicate’s enforcers are moving in on our warehouse space. They’re testing our perimeter.”

Vincent’s playful demeanor vanished in a microsecond. The transformation was terrifying to witness. The warmth in his green eyes evaporated, replaced by a cold, arctic fury.

He buttoned his suit jacket, straightening his cuffs with sharp, precise movements. He walked over to his desk, sliding a heavy shoulder holster containing a customized Sig Nexter pistol over his broad shoulders, concealing it beneath his jacket.

“Get the cars ready,” Vincent commanded. “Tell the boys at Gary we’re going to pay our neighbors a little visit.”