Los Angeles feared me as Dante Voss, the mafia boss they called the Ghost—but one stormy night, a six-year-old cookie seller called me sobbing that her mother was dying, and I raced across the city to save them

The night air off the Pacific was damp and smelled of salt and rotting kelp. Berth 4 at the Port of Los Angeles was pitch black, save for the sickly yellow glow of overhead crane lights.

My black sedan slid to a silent stop near the edge of the concrete pier. Nash killed the engine. In the rearview mirror, I could see three other vehicles carrying our elite security detail fanning out quietly into the shadows.

Victor Ramos was already waiting. He stood flanked by half a dozen heavy-set enforcers holding automatic submachine guns. Ramos was a slick, arrogant bastard who had built his fortune on smuggling and extortion. He thought the underworld belonged to whoever made the most noise.

I stepped out of the car, adjusting my leather gloves. I wore a heavy charcoal overcoat that whipped around my ankles in the ocean wind.

"Dante Voss!" Ramos boomed, spreading his arms wide with a fake, toothy grin. "The legendary Ghost himself. I hear you've gone soft. Spending your nights playing nursemaid in a hospital pediatric wing. Is it true? Has the great mafia king lost his teeth?"

I didn't answer right away. I pulled a silver lighter from my pocket, flicked it open, and lit a cigarette, letting the smoke curl into the cold night air.

"Victor," I said calmly, my voice cutting cleanly through the wind. "You sent three scouts to trail my medical transport yesterday. They scared a nurse. I find that deeply discourteous."

Ramos laughed, and his men chuckled nervously behind him. "You're slipping, Dante. You're distracted by some random woman and a brat. Step down from the North District docks, hand over the shipping routes, and maybe I'll let you play domestic bliss in peace."

I took a slow drag of my cigarette, then dropped it onto the concrete, grinding it out under the heel of my boot.

"Nash," I called out softly.

"Boss?" Nash replied from the darkness behind me.

"Are the perimeter snipers in position?"

"Locked and loaded, Boss. Wind is steady at five knots."

Ramos's smile faltered. His men instantly raised their weapons, but before they could even flick off the safeties, the red laser dots of three distinct sniper rifles locked directly onto Ramos's chest and forehead.

At the same time, the doors of the other three cars flew open, and a dozen of my men stepped out, their assault rifles leveled with absolute, terrifying precision. Silence fell over the pier instantly, broken only by the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the concrete pylons.

I walked slowly toward Ramos, closing the distance until I was standing just a foot away from him. He was sweating profusely now, his eyes darting frantically between my face and the red dots dancing across his chest.

"You think I'm distracted, Victor?" I whispered, my voice dangerously low. "Let me educate you. Everything I love is mine. And anyone who dares to look in their direction gets erased from the earth. Do we understand each other?"