The chosen venue for the exchange was an abandoned industrial shipyard on the south side of the city docks—a neutral territory where both families had conducted business decades prior. Rain battered the corrugated iron roofs of the empty warehouses as night fell, mixing with the dark, oily water of the harbor.

Stefano stood near the edge of Pier 14, dressed in a long dark overcoat that whipped around his legs in the strong ocean wind. Marco and six heavily armed Visconti soldiers were positioned in the shadows of the surrounding shipping containers, their rifles aimed at the approach road.

I sat in the reinforced rear seat of Stefano’s armored sedan fifty yards away, watching the scene unfold through bulletproof tint. Stefano had insisted I stay home, but I had refused to let him face the Valentis alone. If my mother’s secret was going to end this war, I was going to see it through.

At precisely nine o'clock, three black town cars pulled into the shipyard, their high beams blinding as they lined up across from Stefano.

The door of the center vehicle opened, and Julian Valenti stepped out. He was younger than Stefano, with sharp, slicked-back dark hair, wearing an expensive tailored suit that couldn't hide the restless, violent nervous energy radiating from his posture. Four armed guards stepped out behind him, their hands resting noticeably inside their jackets.

"Visconti," Julian called out over the sound of the rain, his voice echoing off the metal containers. "I see you brought your appetite for drama. Where is the girl?"

"The girl is far away from here, Julian," Stefano replied, his voice calm, smooth, and utterly command-driven. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass glass vial containing the micro-film strip. "This is what you came for. The complete record of your family's dirty roster."

Julian’s eyes locked onto the glass vial with ravenous intensity. "Name your price, Stefano. You want territory? You want the docks? Take them. Give me that film and we wipe the slate clean. The Moretti girl goes free, and your family keeps its peace."

"The price isn't money or land, Julian," Stefano said softly, stepping one pace closer.

"Then what is it?" Julian sneered, reaching toward his armpit holster.

Stefano’s expression turned to ice. "The price is your complete surrender."

Before Julian could draw his weapon, red laser dots instantly painted his chest and the foreheads of his four bodyguards. The shadows around the shipyard suddenly shifted as twenty Visconti soldiers stepped out from behind the shipping containers, rifles raised and locked.

"You're outgunned, Julian," Stefano said, his sidearm appearing in his hand with terrifying speed, pointed directly at Julian’s head. "Drop your weapons, or this dock becomes your family’s graveyard."