I just prayed I wouldn’t have to fire a single round. That we’d get to Colin before he arrived at the location they sent him.

I’d rewatched the video message they’d sent him three times. A gun pressed to Lennon’s head, her eyes full of tears, as a computerized voice demanded: “Come alone, without your father, or she gets a bullet to the head. Your life for hers.”

I rested the rifle on my lap and tried calling Colin again. Like every time before, he sent me straight to voicemail after the first ring.

If he’d just answer, I could reason with him. Talk him off this hero ledge he was trying to jump from. Which was precisely why I knew my hardheaded son wasn’t picking up.

Just. Like. Me.

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I glanced at my brothers in the backseat of the Suburban.

Alessandro had my laptop, studying the location sent to Colin, already devising our GTFOF (get the fuck out fast), full-throttle infil plan to pull my son out before it was too late.

We were minutes from catching up to him.

Hudson had called in a favor from his governor father, gave him our plate number, and told him to ensure the NYPD didn’t pull us over for blowing past every speed limit and traffic law in the city.

We couldn’t risk sending officers to the location. Too many variables. Too many things that could go wrong. Colin could get caught in the crossfire, for one. No, this had to be us.

“I was right. It’s him.” Izzy’s voice cut through the tension with tight certainty. “I’ve triple-checked. The fake cop from the parking garage was at the place where you guys are headed now. I have a clear shot of him on the security cameras at the warehouse, leaving an hour before he showed up at the garage.”

The mercenaries had been tracking Colin’s phone, which was how they found us at the mall. That’s why I hadn’t detected a tail. I hadn’t missed it because I’d been distracted, but because we hadn’t been followed. We’d been hunted.

“Giuseppe Messina left that same location shortly after the mercenary did,” Izzy added.

A muscle jumped in my jaw.

“And Vinegar Hill on the East River Waterfront between Dumbo and the Navy Yard, is the base of the Sicilians’ operation,” Alessandro said, backing up Izzy’s intel.

I shook my head, refusing to believe what was being suggested. “I talked to Giuseppe tonight, and he confirmed the Sicilians’ hands are clean of everything. They’re not involved, I’m telling you.”