A terrified little girl texted, “He’s beating my mama,” to the wrong number, and the man who answered happened to be one of Boston’s most feared crime bosses. Her abuser thought he ruled that house—until he came face-to-face with a stranger carrying a past so painful it would change all of their lives forever.

The basement beneath Pier 4 smelled of salt, rusted iron, and stale water.

Brad Kowalski was bound to a heavy wooden chair in the center of the concrete room, a single stark bulb dangling above his head. His face was bruised from our encounter at the house, his eye swollen shut, his hand awkwardly bandaged where I had broken his wrist.

When the heavy steel door creaked open, Brad flinched.

I stepped into the room, flanked by Vincent and two armed guards. I wasn't wearing my usual suit jacket; my white shirt sleeves were rolled up to my elbows, revealing the faint, faded tattoo of an angel wing on my right forearm—the mark I had gotten the day Isabella died.

Brad coughed, spitting blood onto the wet floor. "Reichi..." he rasped, his voice full of whiskey and terror. "You... you don't know who I am! I work for Seamus O'Malley! You can't hold me here!"

I dragged a folding metal chair across the floor, setting it down directly in front of him. I sat down, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Seamus O'Malley isn't coming to save you, Brad," I said softly.

Brad’s good eye widened. "What are you talking about? Seamus will tear this city apart if you touch me!"

"Seamus is currently standing outside my office upstairs," I informed him smoothly. "He came the second I called. And do you know what I showed him?"

Brad swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his forehead.

"I showed him the photos of Sarah Peterson’s living room," I continued, my voice steady, cold, and terrifyingly calm. "I showed him the text messages from an eight-year-old girl begging for someone to save her mother from a animal. I asked Seamus if the O'Malley family officially endorsed terrorizing women and children in my territory."

Brad went pale as paper. "Seamus... Seamus wouldn't—"

"Seamus handed me a pair of heavy pliers and walked out the door," I interrupted. "He surrendered your union card, your territory, and your life to me before his coffee got cold."

Brad began to shake violently, pulling helplessly against the heavy zip-ties cutting into his wrists. "Reichi! Please! I was drunk! I didn't mean to go that far! She owed money! Her dead husband owed money!"

"Debt is business, Brad," I said, rising slowly from the chair. "What you did wasn't business. It was cowardice."

I stepped closer until I was inches from his face.

"Twenty years ago," I whispered into his ear, "a little girl died because nobody answered her call for help. I swore on her grave that if I ever encountered another coward like you, I would make sure he never hurt another soul for as long as he breathed."

"Please! Don't kill me!" Brad shrieked, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. "I'll leave Boston! I'll never come back! I swear to God!"

"Death is far too merciful for a man who strikes a defenseless mother in front of her child," I replied coldly.

I turned my back on him and walked toward the steel exit door.

"Vincent," I commanded without looking back.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Break both his knees. Break every finger on his right hand. Then drop him off in front of the state penitentiary with an anonymous tip to the district attorney regarding his illegal extortion racket. Let him spend the next twenty years in a maximum-security cell thinking about what happens when you touch a child's mother."