The morning sun cast a golden glow over New Avalon, but the peace was a lie. The city was alive with chaos. Two rival gangs clashed in the streets, fists and weapons flying, trying to claim territory. Blood stained the pavement, and the distant wail of sirens was ignored—no cop dared step into this warzone.

  In the middle of it all, a man strolled through the wreckage. Thick white hair, sharp red eyes—Dante Valerio moved like a ghost from the past. The gangsters didn't notice him at first, too caught up in their fight. But one man did. Ricardo "Boomer" Reyes, a lean, tattooed thug with a cigarette hanging from his lips, was busy robbing a couple when a hand grabbed him by the collar. Before he could react, a fist smashed into his jaw. He stumbled back, dazed.

  "What the fuck—?" Reyes blinked, looking up. Recognition hit him like a bullet. "Dante?"

  Another punch. This one harder. Reyes hit the ground, coughing. "You motherfucker..." Dante muttered, his voice quiet, dangerous. "Stealing from nobodies now? You used to have standards."

  Reyes wiped the blood from his mouth and laughed weakly. "Man, we used to do worse shit together. What’s the problem?"

  A boot pressed against his chest. "I changed. You didn’t."

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  Before anything else could happen, a presence loomed over them. Heavy boots stopped inches from Reyes’ head. Dante looked up to see Oliver Rock, leader of the Rock Gang, a mountain of muscle with a scar running down his temple. His men surrounded them, weapons drawn.

  Oliver smirked. "Bad move, old legend. You should’ve stayed gone."

  Dante didn’t reply. He simply let go of Reyes and turned his gaze toward Oliver. No fear. No hesitation. Just the cold, detached look of a man who had seen death too many times to be afraid of it.

  Oliver raised his knife. "You’re done."

  The moment his wrist twitched, Dante moved. Faster than a blink, he grabbed Oliver’s arm, twisted it, and snapped the bone with a sickening crack. The gang leader howled in agony, but Dante was already on the next target. A roundhouse kick sent one thug flying into a pile of trash cans. Another tried to stab him—Dante dodged effortlessly and drove his elbow into the attacker’s throat. The man crumpled, gasping for air.

  Gunshots rang out. The street turned into a war zone.

  Reyes scrambled to his feet. "Oh, fuck this!" He pulled a pistol and started firing back.

  More gang members poured in, hundreds of them swarming the area. It was a full-blown massacre now.

  And then, from the rooftops, a sniper rifle cracked. One shot, one kill. Elias "Doc" Moreno’s voice crackled through a radio. "Dante, welcome back to the hood."

  Kaito "Shadow" Tanaka emerged from an alley, twin blades glinting as he slashed through enemies with inhuman speed. Carlo Costello swung a baseball bat, breaking skulls like glass. Vincent "Ace" Moretti tossed a grenade into a crowd and grinned at the explosion. Andrew de Sanchez and Joe "Scar" Gallo moved like ghosts, cutting down anyone in their path.

  Dante stood in the eye of the storm, unfazed. He exhaled slowly, surveying the battlefield.

  He had been away too long.

  The five families thought they ran this city. Thought they had buried the past. Thought he was done.

  They were wrong.

  Dante cracked his knuckles and whispered to himself, "I’m coming for all of you."