Obsolete. So many old buildings in this city,” she said, nails trailing across a concrete pillar. “It’s insane the money they waste on repairs and refurbishments. Sometimes it’s better to just raze the whole thing and start fresh, don’t you think?”

“The once-late Marcella Riggins,” sneered Kolhoff. “You’ve got some nerve—”

“Oh, I like to think I’ve got a great deal of nerve, Joe.”

“If you had a damn bit of sense,” said Mellis, “you would have run.”

“In these shoes?” she teased, glancing down at her steel heels. “And miss this lovely meeting?”

“You weren’t invited,” said Kolhoff.

“What can I say? My ears were burning.”

“How did you find us?” demanded Caprese.

Marcella wandered between the pillars, nails skating over concrete.

“My husband used to have a saying. Knowledge may be power, but money buys both.” Her hand fell away. “Turns out some of Hutch’s men were more than willing to change sides, in exchange for a promotion.”

“Bullshit,” hissed Caprese. “Family doesn’t turn.”

Marcella rolled her eyes. “The amazing thing about these families of yours,” she said, dragging her hand along another pillar, “is that they’re only family to the ones on top. Head far enough down the tree, and you find a whole lot of people who don’t really care who’s in charge, as long as they’re getting paid.” She let her eyes wander to the warehouse wall, the lot beyond, where half a dozen black sedans idled. “I wonder how many of your men will jump at the chance to work for me, the moment you’re gone.”

Kolhoff bristled. Mellis drew a knife from his back pocket, flicking it lazily open. Caprese, finally, produced a gun. “I always thought you were a brazen bitch,” he said, training the barrel on her, “but you’re obviously a stupid one, too, coming here alone.”

Marcella continued her path between the pillars, unconcerned by the weapons. “Who said I came alone?”

Jonathan’s dress shoes tapped out a rhythm on the concrete as he came into sight. He moved as if in a trance, his dark eyes trained on Caprese as he walked straight toward him. The mob boss squeezed off a shot, and the bullet struck the air in front of Jonathan with a burst of blue-white light before ricocheting off, sparking on the concrete floor.

“What the fuck . . .” snarled Caprese, firing again and again as Jonathan closed the distance between them, bullets skating off before one finally bounced back, hitting Caprese squarely in the knee. He gasped, and buckled, clutching his leg.

Jonathan didn’t say anything. He simply drew his own gun, aimed at the kneeling man’s forehead, and fired.

Kolhoff and Mellis froze, their eyes wide as Caprese’s body slumped, lifeless, to the cold ground.