SHADOWS OF THE WINTER COAT

Elena slid down the steel chute, landing hard on the rubberized matting of the subterranean safe room. The heavy blast door above her snapped shut with a pneumatic hiss, sealing her into a vault of gray reinforced concrete.

""Mama!""

Lily threw herself into Elena's arms. Elena gathered the little girl into her lap, burying her face into Lily’s soft hair, trembling so hard her teeth clicked. Martha stood beside a bank of closed-circuit monitors, holding an assault rifle across her chest with the casual familiarity of a veteran.

""How is it up there?"" Elena gasped, trying to steady her breathing.

Martha’s face was grim. She pointed toward the monitor bank.

On the screen displaying the living room, thick smoke was rolling through the shattered windows. Two of Julian’s perimeter guards were down on the stone patio. Julian was on screen three, crouched behind the overturned white sofa, ejecting an empty magazine and slapping a fresh one home. But there were four more men advancing from the cliffside, and a fifth—a tall, heavyset man wearing a heavy shearling jacket—stepped casually onto the terrace.

Salvatore.

Elena felt the air vanish from her lungs. Salvatore was a ruthless enforcer who had climbed through the ranks of the rival family on a trail of broken bones and arson. He held a nickel-plated revolver in his right hand, a cigar smoldering between his teeth despite the freezing river wind.

On the screen, Salvatore raised his hand, signaling his men to cease firing.

Julian slowly rose from behind the ruined furniture. He had been hit; blood was soaking through his left shoulder, dark and wet against his black shirt. His handgun was held loosely at his side, empty.

Martha hit the audio toggle on the console. Salvatore’s mocking voice crackled through the safe room’s speakers.

""End of the line, Julian,"" Salvatore sneered, tossing his cigar butt onto the ruined carpet. ""You should have stayed in the city. You should have given up the docks. Now I get the docks, the house, and that pretty little waitress and the brat you've been hiding in the diner.""

Julian stared at Salvatore, his expression terrifyingly calm. He didn't look wounded; he looked like a monument carved from granite.

""The girl has nothing to do with this, Salvatore,"" Julian said, his voice carrying clearly over the surveillance microphone.