The most feared Mafia boss in Chicago caught sight of the scars I'd spent years hiding, and the entire mansion fell silent. The men who never flinched at violence suddenly looked shaken, and before I could cover my arm, the man who had destroyed my life walked through the front door, completely unaware that everything was about to change.

The air in the subterranean basement was cold, damp, and heavy with the smell of rust and old concrete.

I walked down the narrow stone stairs behind Vincent, my heels clicking softly against the floor. Marco stayed at the top of the stairs, guarding the entrance.

At the far end of the long corridor, behind a heavy iron cell door, Julian Vance sat tied to a metal chair beneath a single hanging lightbulb.

His expensive suit was ruined, covered in dirt and dried sweat. His face was bruised, his nose crooked, and his lip split. When he heard our footsteps, he lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes squatted in the dim light.

When he saw me walking beside Vincent, a strange, desperate look filled his face.

"Maya!" Julian rasped, his voice cracking with panic. "Maya, thank God! Tell him! Tell Vincent to let me go! We're family, Maya! Your father raised me!"

I stopped five feet away from the iron bars, looking at him through the cold metal grates.

Six months ago, the sight of Julian Vance would have caused me to drop to my knees in absolute terror. But standing here now, surrounded by the shadows of the basement, with Vincent Moretti standing like a mountain at my side, I didn't feel fear.

I felt nothing at all.

"Family?" I repeated, my voice flat and icy. "You locked me in a cellar for three months, Julian. You burned my arm with a pipe clamp. You murdered my fiancé and stole my father's life work."

"I was desperate, Maya!" Julian pleaded, tears of pure self-preservation spilling down his bruised cheeks. "The debt collectors were going to kill me! I did what I had to do to save the company! I'm sorry, Maya! I swear to God I'm sorry! Please... don't let him kill me!"

Julian looked at Vincent, trembling violently. "Vincent, please! I'll sign over everything! I'll leave Chicago! You'll never see me again!"

Vincent didn't look at Julian. He looked down at me, holding out a small, heavy silver key.

"The key to the cell," Vincent said quietly. "Inside is a loaded pistol on the table. The guards will turn off the cameras. No one will ever know what happens in this room."

Julian gasped, his eyes widening in horror. "Maya... no! Please! Don't do this!"

I looked at the silver key resting in Vincent's calloused palm.

I thought about the dark nights in my cold, rat-infested apartment, listening to Sophia cry from hunger. I thought about the sharp pain of the bleach burning my bleeding hands on the marble floor. I thought about the scars on my arm that would never fade.

I reached out and gently pushed Vincent's hand back.

"No," I said softly.

Vincent raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "No?"

"If I kill him," I said, looking Julian straight in the eyes, "I become like him. I become a monster who thinks violence solves everything."

I turned my back on Julian Vance.

"Give the encrypted drive and the security footage to the Federal Prosecutors," I told Vincent. "Let him spend the rest of his miserable life in a maximum-security prison, locked in a eight-by-ten cell, knowing that the girl he tried to break owns everything he ever fought for."

Julian let out a ragged, desperate sob behind the bars as the realization hit him: he wasn't going to get a quick death. He was going to spend thirty years rotting in the dark.

Vincent stared at me for a long, silent moment. A slow, deep smile of profound admiration spread across his face.