The convoy rolled out like a machine built for war.

Alessandro stood at the front of the lead SUV, door open, city lights painting fire across his suit. Engines roared behind him—black sedans, armored vans, motorcycles bristling with soldiers. Naples trembled under their growl.

Every capo had sent men. Every ally with a debt to the Bianchis had called it in. The Russians wouldn’t just feel pressure tonight. They’d feel a blade across their throat.

Jeremy slammed a rifle into the backseat, ...