Everyone FROZE when a 4-YEAR-OLD housekeeper’s daughter suddenly CUT OFF a ruthless MAFIA BOSS’S $10,000 TIE with toy scissors just hours before his most dangerous meeting—but when she whispered, “THERE’S A BUG HIDING INSIDE,” he discovered a tiny surveillance device sewn into the silk, and after learning that his MOST TRUSTED lieutenant had ordered the ties, the little girl opened her crayon box and revealed a drawing of the man she’d secretly watched planting it...

"They weren't trying to hear my secrets," Dante whispered, a grim smile curling at the edges of his lips. "They were using the frequency to triangulate my exact position through the restaurant’s bulletproof glass."

The summit was an execution. And Don Carmine Stracci had already paid for Dante’s coffin.

"We cancel the summit," Marco said urgently, his weapon already drawn, checking the slide with a metallic snap. "We call the captains, assemble twenty cars, and turn Stracci's Mott Street parlor into a slaughterhouse."

"No," Dante replied, standing tall. "If we cancel, Stracci knows the leak is burned. Julian runs, Stracci retreats to his fortified compound in Staten Island, and we fight an attritional war in the streets for six months. Civilians get caught in the crossfire. Elena and Mia become targets."

Dante looked down at the severed half of the silk tie on the marble floor.

"We give them exactly what they want to see."

Dante picked up the severed strip of silk containing the micro-transmitter. He walked over to the antique console table, picked up a roll of heavy clear packing tape from Elena’s supply basket, and affixed the bug to the underside of a heavy brass grandfather clock in the main hallway.

"Marco," Dante commanded. "Julian is waiting in the motorcade courtyard right now, isn't he?"

"Yes, boss. He brought three armored Suburbans. He's standing by the lead vehicle, checking his watch."

"Good. Here is what we do," Dante said, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, completely unbothered by the fact that he was missing his tie. "You go outside. Tell Julian that I had a minor wardrobe malfunction—spilled coffee on my shirt. Tell him I’m changing upstairs and that we will depart in exactly ten minutes."

"And the bug?"

"Leave it broadcasting ambient house noise," Dante instructed. "Let them think I’m still leisurely pacing my foyer. But while Julian is staring at his watch, you take four men through the underground service tunnel and surround the motorcade from the blind side of the garage."

"And what about Rossi?" Marco asked, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. "Mia said he hid in a trunk."

"Rossi didn't leave the property," Dante said coldly. "He's still inside one of the vehicles Julian brought in. They plan to use Rossi as the inside trigger-man once the motorcade arrives in Chinatown."

Dante walked over to the mahogany display case beside the fireplace, entered a four-digit code, and pulled out an engraved Kimber .45 pistol. He racked the slide with a fluid, terrifying grace.

"Elena," Dante said, turning back toward the housekeeper.

"Yes, Mr. Moretti?" she whispered from the doorway of the basement stairs.

"Take Mia down now. And Mia?"

The little girl looked up, smiling cheerfully.

"When I come back down to get you," Dante promised, "I’m buying you the biggest box of crayons in New York City. The one with one hundred and twenty colors."