The little boy pounding on my Ferrari window couldn’t have been older than five, but the terror in his eyes stopped me colder than any gun ever had. “Mom is dying… please help!” he cried.
He had no idea the man behind that glass was one of Manhattan’s most feared mafia bosses, or that following him into a filthy alley would lead me to a woman who knew my real name and a secret I thought had been buried years agoo.
The traffic light had just turned green when I lowered my window halfway.
Dirt streaked the boy’s cheeks. Tears poured down his face, and a battered toy truck was crushed against his chest.
“What happened?”
“My mom can’t breathe,” he sobbed. “She’s in the alley. She won’t wake up. Please, sir.”
A horn screamed behind my bright yellow Ferrari.
Then another.
My driver wasn’t with me that morning. Neither were the two men who normally followed me everywhere.
For once, I was alone.
That was rare.
At thirty-six, I controlled an organization that stretched from Manhattan nightclubs to businesses men in expensive suits preferred not to discuss.
People feared my name.
Some owed me money.
